


Flight

by pugoata



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Bumbleby - Freeform, Bumbleby Big Bang (RWBY), F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Romance, Smut, welcome to the circus au, where the only clown is me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 58,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27638776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pugoata/pseuds/pugoata
Summary: AU: Blake is disillusioned: with her career in the White Fang Ballet, with her oppressive boyfriend and ballet master, and her life in general. A chance visit to the Shattered Moon Circus, however, introduces her to trapeze artist and aerial dancer Yang, who offers to teach Blake how to fly. As she learns to let go and trust in the people who catch her, she falls in more ways than one when it comes to Yang.“Blake,” Sienna says, calmly. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”And maybe she has. After all, Blake can't just run away and join the circus.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 196
Kudos: 444
Collections: Bumbleby Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my Bumbleby Big Bang Fic, everyone!!
> 
> First rule: everyone has to take a shot every time someone makes a clown joke at my expense.
> 
> Anyway... I had two INCREDIBLE artists work with me on this fic!! For this first chapter, please refer to [6iirls](https://6iirls.tumblr.com/) art, which you can find [HERE](https://6iirls.tumblr.com/post/635277722966540288/)!! (this will be a link once there is one, lolol)
> 
> Also huge apologies in advance for any real aerial dancers... I did my best but I don't actually know what I'm talking about.  
> I also had a second art done by my other artist partner, my sister [sunnyteea](https://sunnyteea.tumblr.com/), though this art is for the end of the fic! I'll link it again at the last chapter, but [HERE](https://sunnyteea.tumblr.com/post/635277692114288641/) it is! (that'll be a link, too, in a few minutes haha)
> 
> I had so much fun taking a part in this Big Bang!! Thank you so much to the other mods for hosting such a wonderful event!

The lights dim, and a hush falls over the crowd. Blake doesn’t move a muscle, keeping her hands neatly in her lap as she looks down over the darkened stage. It’s nice to be on the audience’s side for a change, sitting comfortably in the reserved producer’s box. Usually, it was her on a stage, and this moment of supposed calm would be spent rushing to places with the other dancers. So it was nice, to not have to worry about cues or counting the beats or praying nothing went wrong. Theoretically, Blake can relax.

Beside her, Adam opens up his palm on the armrest. With a sigh, Blake places her hand in his and lets him squeeze it. So much for relaxing.

A long, amplified note blares from the stage and Blake nearly jumps with surprise at its volume. But then the note trails into a long, careening melody as a woman sings. All along the edge of the stage, fires erupt, one by one, bursting into life, illuminating it.

“Flashy,” Adam remarks. Blake says nothing.

Shadows of people skitter across the massive stage, some of them whirling chairs in their hands, swooping them over their heads. Strobe lights, in yellows and reds and oranges, dot along the wall and the floor. This isn’t the kind of scenery Blake is used to, but she’s surprised to find it wakes her up and holds her attention.

It feels _alive_.

Blake has never been to a contemporary circus, let alone the world-renowned Shattered Moon Circus, and she isn’t sure what to expect. The title of the show is _Legends from Olympus_ , though because Adam keeps their programs in his lap, she can’t squint through it and try to identify the different scenes or performers. It would’ve been rude to do that, he’d told her, since the producer was sitting right next to them. Blake could’ve argued, but she’s careful about picking her battles; this wouldn’t have been worth the cost.

But now there are more strobe lights, fire, and smoke. The music is loud, the beat strong and catchy, and, to Blake’s surprise, it all _works_.

The people on stage freeze, and so do the lights. They’re silhouettes, twelve of them, each holding ornate chairs over their heads, everyone of them backlit by a different color. Men and women, standing stock-still, their backs to the audience. 

One by one, they turn, slamming their chairs into place. Even from Blake’s vantage point, she can see their expressions. Some serene, some unmoving, some downright manic. Blake knows enough about Greek mythology to know that they probably represent the twelve Olympians: a man in an elaborate, sparkling cape would have been Zeus, stretching out his hand and seeming to catch lightning in them. A man in a dark, loose-fitting bodysuit, a skeletal mask covering his eyes, is Hades, who promptly contorts his body to crawl away jerkily, not unlike the creepy girl in _The Exorcist_. There’s enough of them that it’s hard to keep track, especially when a small swarm of new performers flood the stage, engulfing the twelve gods and goddesses.

There’s elaborately-costumed nymphs and satyrs and monsters, a massive puppet manticore, and Blake can’t even think of how many people are controlling the legs, head, and tail. It’s a carefully choreographed kind of chaos, of circus tricks and dancing and singing. A couple people are pulled into the air on harnesses, where they continue to stretch and swing.

“This is… incredible,” Blake tells Adam quietly. He lets out a huff.

“It’s messy.”

Blake supposes to his neat, controlling director’s vision, it could be considered messy, but Blake isn’t inclined to agree with him. It’s something she often doesn’t think about as a dancer in the White Fang Ballet, that there can be beauty in chaos.

It makes for a nice change.

Acts center around the gods themselves, punctuated by other well-known legends. Zeus stands alone on the stage, apparently conducting lightning effects that crackle across the stage. Blake’s hair stands on end, absorbed enough in the act that she can almost _feel_ the electricity, and the booms of thunder rattle her bones.

A white-haired Artemis walks on a wire from the stage to a platform above, balancing a bow in her hand. Blake sees the ballet form in her technique, and also sees where it warps into something entirely new. Blake appreciates the familiarity, but is intrigued by the differences, taking mental notes as Artemis and a small entourage of other women angrily chase a man from the tightrope. He transforms before the audience's eyes, shedding his outer layer of clothes to a furry bodysuit, and seeming to grow a pair of antlers from his head. The audience roars its approval, and Artemis watches in satisfaction as performers, dressed as dogs, pull the man down from the tightrope.

“She studied ballet,” Blake murmurs to Adam excitedly as Artemis is whisked away. “She _had_ to be a--”

“If you speak again during this show,” Adam breathes, voice brimming with danger, “we will leave _now_.”

Blake clenches her jaw, and gives a sharp nod. _Consequences_. Adam is a man full of them, and Blake knows better than to tempt fate.

Her excitement is muted as the acts move on. Adam’s words and intentions weigh sourly in her stomach, and it’s difficult to find the fun in the show again. She claps politely after each performance, hardly remembering which god is which, or what each monster is. Adam just sucks the enjoyment out of things, and Blake slumps in her seat little by little, already beginning to wish it were over.

She claps again, staring dully at the stage. It’s probably Poseidon now, holding a trident, disappearing amid the rolling blue fabric that stretches across the stage. He thrusts it into the air triumphantly, and it’s the last Blake sees of him as she claps again, each clap feeling lame and predictable.

But nobody clears the blue fabric away. Dolphin puppets leap between the different layers of waves, and sound effects of crying gulls continue to ring through the arena. Then, center-stage, a large shape emerges from the waves. It takes Blake a moment to recognize that shape as a seashell, vaguely scallop-shaped. 

It rotates, then opens.

Within, a woman rises up from a crouch, stretching her arms like she’s just waking up. She shakes out her long, golden hair, and then an expression crosses over her face as she realizes where she is. She looks around with wonder, seeing everything as if for the first time. It might just be the illusion of sunlight, glittering on those imaginary waves, Blake thinks. But the woman looks like she _shines_.

She’s wearing only a leotard, flesh-colored, though she wears it like she’s wearing nothing at all. She lifts a hand over her eyes, looking into some distant horizon.

And then she _grins_.

She steps out of the shell and the waves around her stop moving. They part before her, the fabrics of the ocean billowing away. She looks around, and twirls clumsily, like she’s not used to walking. It looks so authentic, but Blake can see the control in her steps. This woman-- Aphrodite-- plays her part well.

A few performers approach her, but Aphrodite doesn’t seem to notice them, even when a couple of them pin the hair away from her face. Another few run their hands down her body, smearing her legs and arms with paint. It looks so intimate, even though it’s clearly a part of the act. She blushes, and is grateful for the darkness in the audience; Adam never likes it when she’s preoccupied with a body that isn’t his, even when it’s for the sake of ballet. More than once, she’s had to deal with the fallout of his jealousy, and she doesn’t want to give him another excuse to experience it.

Still… it doesn’t stop her from staring at Aphrodite.

Something long and slender descends from above, and Aphrodite looks up. She reaches a long, painted arm up to it, grasping the bar as it drops lower, hanging down to her waist. At this level, it looks almost like a swing on a playset. Like a toy.

Looking curious, Aphrodite gives the long bar a push. It swings, and Aphrodite steps away, like she’s studying its motion. She walks in a wide arc around the swing, each step timed, calculated. Then, without warning, she runs toward it, throwing her whole body into the air in a flip. She lands in a crouch in front of the swing, and rises.

She grabs the bar, and it’s pulled slowly into the air. She swings from it testingly, looking down at the stage below her, gauging her height. She looks back up, and in the growing light, the muscles in Aphrodite’s arms are only accentuated, especially when, in a singular motion, Aphrodite pulls herself up to sit on the bar. She kicks her legs out, swinging leisurely.

Oh, Blake realizes then. It’s not a swing. It’s a trapeze.

Aphrodite flips herself around the bar, legs careening around to catch herself. It reminds Blake of those baton-twirlers in marching bands, only instead of the twirler flinging a baton, Aphrodite is flinging herself. Blake doesn’t want to blink; this woman isn't wasting even a blink's worth of time, filling it with quick acrobatics Blake can barely register.

Other people begin to swing with her and around her, though Blake hardly spares them a glance; they’re all following along in the pace that Aphrodite sets for them. They’re the nereids, dressed in blues and greens, in glittering fabric that should’ve been able to outshine Aphrodite, who barely looks like she’s wearing anything at all.

But she has a way of holding the audience's attention, and Blake only has eyes for her.

She’s sitting up straight in her seat again, eyes wide as Aphrodite is tossed from nereid to nereid, from bar to bar. It’s playful, but alluring, like a dolphin playing among the waves, like dappling sunlight on water. Blake had never considered the trapeze to be anything like a dance, but this is exactly what Aphrodite was doing, in her flips and twirls and somersaults: she was _dancing_.

Aphrodite finishes with a flourish, landing on the platform easily, arms extended to each side. There are nereids on the platform, waiting for her, wrapping her in a loose, tunic-like garment.

Blake claps with more enthusiasm now than she had with the previous acts. She’s almost forgotten about the way Adam had tried dragging her mood down; it’s like Aphrodite had washed those thoughts away, and cleansed her.

Her claps have a little more spirit by the time the house lights rise for intermission. She stands up automatically, feeling more energized now than she had when she’d first sat down. The circus atmosphere is _electrifying_.

“It’s an interesting show,” Adam says noncommittally, turning in his seat to face the producer. Dr. Ozpin doesn’t look back; his gaze is still on the now-empty stage.

“It’s quite spectacular, isn’t it?” he asks, apparently unaware of how irritated Adam was becoming; he hates it when people don't look him in the eyes. He sees it as disrespect, and Blake can feel the way he seethes, and how the anger rolls in waves off his skin. “No matter how many times they tell a story… it always feels new, does it not?”

Adam lets out a huff, clearly unimpressed. Blake senses an argument, so she clears her throat and stretches her arms exaggeratedly. If he starts an argument with Dr. Ozpin, she wants no part of it.

“I’m gonna go stretch my legs,” she tells them. Dr. Ozpin finally looks over at them, though his eyes land on her first. He nods amicably.

“Of course,” he says, even though Adam’s already opening his mouth to protest. It promptly closes, and he jerks his head in a grudging, singular nod.

As quickly as she can, Blake scoots awkwardly past Adam and Dr. Ozpin. Fortunately, being in the producer’s box, there’s no one else to wiggle past, and she can easily slip into the hallway before Adam has a chance to change his mind.

The halls are packed, and Blake grimaces as she threads her way through throngs of people. There are lines outside the bathrooms and merchandise stalls, and though Blake had wanted to look at the souvenirs, the lines make her reconsider. Children walk away from them with glowsticks and flashing toys, and once, Blake even sees one kid smack her brother with a light-up wand. That makes Blake smile, even though a part of her feels guilty when the brother starts to wail. She never sees this many children at her own performances. It’s a nice change of pace.

Rather, it would have been nice if she didn’t keep getting jostled by passersby. Blake shoots a glare at an old woman walking a little too closely, then picks up her pace. She’s walking along the sides of the arena, naturally gravitating to the direction of the stage; that’s a part of herself she can never fully suppress, she supposes.

At the end of the hallway is a set of double-doors, marked BACKSTAGE. But even this place has groups of people milling around, talking and laughing. They’re genuinely having a good time at the show; they’d chosen to come here, probably bought their tickets well in advance. They’d probably ooh’d and aah’d at the acrobatics and tricks, watching the show for the simple joy of it.

Blake can’t remember the last time she’d watched a show for _fun_.

There’s another door to the side, and Blake comes to a halt beside it. It’s a glass door, simply marked _Private Parties Only_. Raising an eyebrow, Blake peeks through. It’s dark out; the sun had set before she’d even arrived at the arena. Moonlight glitters off the rippling Vale Harbor, and Blake’s ears perk up: the door leads to a balcony or terrace of some sort, completely devoid of people. Outside, and without people? It’s almost too good to be true.

She presses her weight against the door handle, and when she feels it give, she grins. She presses harder, opening the door and disappearing through it.

It’s so peacefully quiet outside, and overlooking the water, it almost feels like it's not a part of the circus building at all. It’s like a large patio, with plenty of space, and though there’s no furniture, it’s the kind of area that would probably be perfect for events. After the claustrophobia of the audience and the crowd, it’s refreshing to be out in the cool, open air. Blake drinks in a greedy breath, then nearly chokes.

Leaning over the edge of the balustrade and silhouetted against the moonlight, is Aphrodite.

Blake freezes, unable to do anything other than stare. Aphrodite is still in her skin-tight, flesh-colored leotard, and up close, Blake can see gold shimmering along her arms, and painted down her legs. Her body is so perfectly defined in this costume, her muscles so expertly cut, that just looking at her feels immodest, and Blake almost looks away out of a misplaced sense of propriety.

Almost.

Aphrodite sighs, shaking her hair out, and it cascades down her back in golden waves. There’s a crinkling sound, a sort of rustle, and Blake raises an eyebrow.

“Should you be eating in costume?” she asks, unable to resist teasing as she steps toward her.

And Aphrodite _jumps_ , nearly sending her bag of chips flying over the edge of the balcony. She glances over her shoulder, and visibly relaxes before straightening up and turning to face Blake.

“ _Jesus_. What are you, the costume police?” she asks, and the sound of her voice almost leaves Blake winded. Her voice is lower than what she had expected, a lilt of sultriness to it that sends Blake’s heart skipping across the flagstones.

“Not for this stage,” she admits, somehow managing to sound smooth as she steps over to Aphrodite. She even has the frame of mind to give her a smirk. “But I thought it was a universal rule.”

“How about this,” she says, leaning back against the balustrade, a bag of chips dangling from her fingers. “You don’t tell anyone I’m eating in costume, and I won’t tell anyone you snuck back here.”

Blake gives her a measuring look, now close enough to smell the salt and vinegar of the chips. She can feel her cheeks flush.

“Oh...,” she says, grimacing. “Sorry. I just needed some fresh air for a minute. And everywhere else was packed. And I didn’t hear any alarms go off when I opened the door, so--”

Aphrodite lifts one oil-covered finger, and Blake falls silent.

“Relax,” she replies cheerfully, reaching back into the chip bag. “As I said. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

She gives Blake a conspiratorial wink, and Blake can’t help but laugh.

“Deal, then.”

Aphrodite pops the chip into her mouth and begins to extend her hand before reconsidering. She shifts the bag to the other hand, and offers Blake the clean one. With a small smile, Blake shakes it.

“Deal,” Aphrodite says with finality. She gazes into Blake’s face, and in the moonlight, her eyes sparkle like amethysts. “So what’s your name, partner-in-crime?”

“Blake,” she replies, surprised by her own ease with the introduction. She’d spent the evening being toted around on Adam’s arm, making stiff introductions to important men she didn’t care about. But something about this meeting-- even though it was with a woman who very well could’ve been a goddess-- feels so authentic, so _natural_. Like this woman could’ve been just another member of their dance company. “And I take it you’re Aphrodite?”

The woman lets out a peal of laughter, contagious enough that Blake almost laughs herself.

“I mean, you can call me that if you’d like,” she says, still grinning. “But just as a heads up, this isn’t usually my role. I’m just filling in for the _real_ Aphrodite, who, unfortunately, is still recovering after her appendectomy.”

“Ouch,” Blake says, wincing. “That sounds rough.”

“Yeah,” Aphrodite-not-Aphrodite replies with a sigh. “But it’s all right. If it means pretty girls end up calling me Aphrodite, maybe I should keep this role full-time. This type of power is wasted on Pyrrha.”

Her tone and its accompanying grin indicates a joke, but Blake feels a quickening of her heartbeat. It’s that quickening that convinces Blake to play along, to give her a little playfulness of her own. Meeting her eyes boldly, Blake reaches into the chip bag and pulls one out, watches the way the woman’s lip curls.

“It definitely has a better ring to it than _understudy for Aphrodite_ ,” she reflects, bringing her free hand up in an air quote before biting into the chip.

“Nah.” The woman waves her hand in dismissal, then proffers the chip bag to Blake again. “I still have another role to play. Just a different character. So I’m not _totally_ nameless.”

“Oh?”

“My _actual_ name though,” she adds, lilac eyes darting to watch Blake take another, “is Yang. Yang Xiao Long.”

“Well,” Blake says, nodding her head in acknowledgement before eating the chip, “it’s nice to meet you, Yang Xiao Long.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Yang says, so sincerely that Blake has no choice but to believe it. “Are you sticking around for the rest of the show?”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on leaving in the middle of it.” Blake replies with a roll of her eyes, and she swears that Yang’s smile widens just a _little_ bit.

“Good,” she says, rolling out her shoulders as she sinks more comfortably against the balustrade.

“Why?”

“Because you’ll be able to watch my _real_ act.” Yang gestures at herself-- her costume-- and Blake’s eyes linger on her biceps, her abs, her _everything_ , and it’s so hard not to stare outright. “Because Aphrodite? That’s just a role I’m filling in. But my set in the second act… well, that part was written _for_ me. And nobody could ever pull it off like I could.”

Those muscles, that brazen confidence, the cocky smile, all come together to set Blake’s nerves on fire. She feels a small flare of jealousy, for all the other trapeze artists that got to fly in the air beside her; Blake wishes that she’d been one of them.

“I guess you’ll have to prove it,” Blake says evenly, leaning against the balustrade beside her, not quite touching. Leaning back next to her, Yang’s height is only emphasized, and Blake has to look up at her.

“I will. You’ll see.” There’s more than just confidence and cockiness in Yang’s tone; she’s speaking in facts, like it’s something that can’t even be questioned. Blake frowns. She’s never cared for ego; she’s seen what happens when people bathe in it, and use it to drown the _lesser_ people. This is simple pride, not superiority, and it catches Blake off-guard. She’s too used to the alternative, she supposes. “So what do _you_ do? You said you work on a stage, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Blake tries to match Yang’s level of pride, by straightening her shoulders and her posture, but falters at the intensity of Yang’s gaze; she looks away. “I dance.”

“No shit?” When Blake looks back up, Yang’s grinning with her whole face, making her eyes squint a little. “What kind?”

“Ballet, mostly,” Blake says, shrugging, though Yang’s delight sparks a smile of her own. “Have you heard of the White Fang Ballet?”

“You’re with _them_?” Yang sounds surprised. Blake isn’t surprised Yang’s heard of them; the White Fang is prestigious enough that most people in the art circles would at least know of them, even if they hadn’t seen their shows.

“Well, yeah.”

Yang looks at Blake with new eyes, like she’s sizing her up, and Blake can feel herself blush. She’s used to critical eyes on her body, on her muscles and posture. She’s used to sharp words and harsh reminders of her flaws, of her weight, of how anything less than perfection would earn a slammed door in her face. She tenses, bracing herself.

“Yeah,” Yang says instead. She pulls another chip out of her bag, holding it while she waves a hand in Blake’s direction. “You’ve got a dancer’s body, and the way you hold yourself… yeah, I can see it.”

Blake raises an eyebrow, but she can see Yang is still thinking. She still hasn’t eaten the chip in her hand; she’s only tapping it with one long, calloused finger, staring almost distantly at Blake.

And then, she asks, “Have you ever given aerial dancing a try?”

“Given… what?”

“Aerial dancing,” Yang makes another vague gesture with her chip. “On silks.”

Blake frowns again. She feels like she’s heard the phrase _aerial dancing_ before, but can’t picture it. “Was that what you were doing out there?”

“Not quite.” Finally, Yang eats the chip, shaking her head in amusement. “That was pretty strictly trapeze work. A little acrobatics, I mean, but…” A slow smile spreads once more. “You’ll see soon, what _real_ aerial dancing looks like.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Yang’s smile morphs into another smirk, and she juts her chin out slightly in challenge. “And if you like it… you oughta take a lesson. If you’ve already got ballet under your belt, the silks won’t be much of a stretch. Once you’re off the ground, it’s like it adds a whole new dimension to dancing.”

“Oh?” Blake tries to picture it, even though the idea of _silks_ are vague. But she _does_ like a challenge, and she misses the freedom that had once come with dancing. That freedom feels more like a fond childhood memory than anything else, and she longs for the days when she could look forward to her ballet lessons. Maybe adding another dimension to her dancing would be enough to reinvigorate her.

“Yeah.” Yang hands Blake the bag of chips. It’s still got a few left in it, but Yang pats her hands together to get rid of the crumbs. Bemused, Blake helps herself to another. “Then again, I’ve never liked being stuck on the ground. So it could be different for you, I guess.”

“I can’t really say,” Blake replies, looking up at the sky. She’s never thought about what it might be like, to push off the ground and take flight. “But I’m always interested in different styles of dance.”

Yang watches her thoughtfully, like she can sympathize with her new thoughts for the sky.

“If you like the show tonight,” she says slowly. “Send me a text. I give lessons on the side, y’know.”

“Do you?” Blake gives her a quizzical smile. “Sounds convenient.”

“Phone?”

Blake’s smile fades. Adam had taken it before the show. To anyone else, it might look like a thoughtful gesture, like he was just holding onto it so Blake wouldn’t have to worry about it during the show. But Adam’s oppressive ways weren’t just limited to the stage; he’d boxed her in, and this was just another way of showing it.

“I… left it. In my seat.”

“Oh.” Yang frowns, then shrugs. “Hold on, then. I’ll go grab a pen.”

Yang bounces away from the balustrade, darting for a nondescript door. When she moves, she’s all sinewy grace, the light from the windows and the moonlight coming together to make her bodysuit glitter. She isn’t just muscle, though; she moves almost delicately, too, elegance as well as strength. Blake admires it; there _is_ a dancer in that body, and Blake is transfixed. At the door, she looks back at Blake, raises one finger in a gesture that says _wait_ , and slips inside.

Why the effort? Blake wonders as she waits. She eats another couple of chips, trying to find an answer to that question. Yang is probably just desperate to drum up business for her lessons, but somehow, it feels more than that. It feels personal, but Blake can’t think of why.

All she knows is that her interest is piqued, and that she’s curious to see how far it can go.

Yang returns through the door, movements even quicker than before. She looks embarrassed, and grins sheepishly.

“I really need to get changed for my next act,” she says, apologetic. “Can I write on your arm?”

Blake hesitates, then nods. She pulls back the sleeve of her blazer, already knowing she’ll need to scrub hard to get the numbers off after she puts it in her phone. But it’s a risk she’s willing to take, and she feels the press of the pen as numbers are quickly scrawled onto her brown skin. She feels a thrill in her stomach; this feels rebellious, in a way, but it also feels good to make an independent _decision_. She _can_ still think for herself, even after the years in Adam’s company.

“Watch the show,” Yang instructs, capping the pen. There’s smugness in her smile, but again, it doesn’t feel like she’s rubbing her superiority in Blake’s face. It looks more like excitement, or eagerness to impress. “Then, if it looks like something you wanna learn… shoot me a text.”

“I hope it lives up to the hype,” Blake teases, pulling her sleeve back down, hiding the phone number.

“It will,” Yang says confidently. “As I said… this role was written for me specifically.”

“I’m a tough critic,” Blake warns, and Yang grins, leans over her. Blake can smell the salt and vinegar on her breath, and the familiar twang of sweat on her body, but she’s more amused than disgusted. She looks up, meeting Yang’s eyes head-on.

“Challenge accepted,” she replies. A breeze catches Yang’s loose hair, and for a moment, Blake wants to call her _Aphrodite_ again. Yang winks. “Enjoy the show, Blake.”

Blake rolls her eyes, and Yang pulls away, still grinning. She strides back toward the door, looking over her shoulder one last time.

Beautiful, Blake thinks, finally recognizing her attraction for what it is. She isn’t just admiring Yang’s body with the eye of a seasoned dancer; Yang is _exquisite_ , perfect, and Blake knows she wants to see her again. 

_Sweet mother, I cannot dance_ , Blake thinks as the door shuts behind Yang. She crumples up Yang’s now-empty bag of chips. _Slender Aphrodite has overcome me…_

\--

“Where have you been?” Adam hisses as Blake takes her seat. Intermission had ended during her meeting with Yang, which meant Blake had to sneak back to her seat after the first scene. In the darkness, she’d tripped over Dr. Ozpin (who only chuckled), and now she feels the heat of Adam’s glare.

“I got lost,” she whispers back. Already, she feels smothered beside Adam, when he takes her hand and squeezes a little too tightly.

“I’ll go with you next time, then,” he mutters. Blake resists the urge to wince.

Not for the first time, she thinks of what leaving him might entail. They’d met years ago, when she had just joined the White Fang. He’d been a dancer then, and he’d taken Blake under his wing as a new member of their company. It had been a whirlwind romance, and Blake had overlooked the warning signs. His sudden rise to the company’s artistic director had only exacerbated his worst tendencies, and Blake had begun to fantasize about packing her bags and just disappearing.

He doesn't let up the pressure on her hand. If only she was brave enough to wrench it from his grip.

At least now she has something to look forward to now. She watches the acts, and gradually, Adam’s grip loosens its stranglehold. Without being able to see the program, it's impossible to know when Yang would appear, or even what the different scenes are. Her rudimentary knowledge of Greek mythology helps her figure out a few of the legends-- the story of Orpheus and Eurydice was an incredible display on the tightrope, with Orpheus actually playing a small harp-- but for the most part, it’s a guessing game. Blake finds she doesn’t even really need to know the actual stories, though; the performers tell this story in a way that books never could.

The stage darkens, and two candles light, held by two performers. They’re backlit by their own spotlights, and Blake’s heart skips a beat.

Holding one candle, features caked in shadow, is Yang.

Yang and the man beside her blow out their candles, and the lights brighten a little more. Yang is full of energy on stage, mirroring the older man who dances across from her. The man moves, and Yang mimics him. Her blonde hair is pinned back around her face, but otherwise hangs loose down her back, swirling as she turns on the stage.

Her costume now is flashier than the simple glamor of Aphrodite’s. Her bodysuit is a sleek, shiny red, her biceps deliciously bare save for feathery armbands. Blake stares, very much aware of how little is left to the imagination. She can see every curve, the shadows playing across each dip of muscle. For a moment, Blake forgets to breathe.

Then, fabric descends from the ceiling, two long, white strips that look like ribbons. They’re long-- so long that even though they hang from the ceiling, there’s still excess that lands in piles at the base of each. The silks, Blake realizes, squinting at the fabric. _Those_ must be the aerial silks Yang had talked about.

The man strides to one of them, gesturing to it. Yang tilts her head, as if listening to his instructions, the playfulness on her face turning to wonder as the man begins to hoist himself up.

Blake breaks her gaze from Yang for only a minute, in order to watch the way he twines his body with the fabric, somehow _climbing_ up it by pulling the fabric into knots around him. He pulls himself about a third of the way up the fabric, coming to a halt in an angular pose that accentuates the feathers on his arms.

Yang sweeps her legs back in wide circles, sliding backward. She reaches back with both hands, wrapping her hands around the fabric. Then, she jerks her hands to the side, and Blake sees that there are actually _two_ sheets of fabric, one in each hand. With a cheeky grin, Yang falls backward.

Only she doesn’t fall. Yang is completely upside down, legs stretched in a split, the white silks wrapped around her legs. She spins, pulling herself back upright, her smile almost wild.

She continues to pull herself up, going higher and higher until she’s above the man. The man spins, and Yang mimics him again, always faster than him, more frantic, more excited. Blake doesn’t even see the process Yang goes through the knot herself into the fabric; it’s so fast and seamless, so _easy_. Yang leans forward into the fabric, making herself horizontal to the stage, using the silks to curl her body into a ball.

Then, she climbs higher, her whole body working to pull herself higher, always keeping a leg twined with the silks. Blake holds her breath when Yang is near the large golden light on the ceiling. She’s so high up, and even the man below has a look of worry on his face. He swirls anxiously, reaching up toward Yang, but Yang doesn’t look down. She’s too high.

She’s _flying._

Yang continues to roll in the air, and bend, and stretch. Somehow, she manages to combine the silks once more, relying on the expertly-tied knots to keep her in the air. She spins fast, dizzyingly, limbs flying in all directions. She somersaults, the silks wrapping and unwrapping and rewrapping faster than Blake can comprehend.

The music reaches its crescendo, and Yang is flying _too_ fast. Smoke billows from the ceiling, the light nearly blinding. Blake grips her armrest. It’s only a show, she reminds herself. Yang knows what she’s doing, but seeing her speed, her spins, her constant morphing of the fabric is both beautiful and uncontrolled. Blake is looking up, as Yang becomes smaller as she nearly reaches the ceiling, the light, the sun.

And then Yang _falls_.

Blake’s stomach drops as she watches Yang tumble, like the silks that tangle around her start to unravel, unweave. Yang’s eyes are closed, like she’s utterly at peace with the speed at which she drops. The armbands she wears have fallen off, floating to the ground, careful spotlights watching their descent.

Icarus, Blake realizes as Yang comes to a sudden halt only a few feet off the ground. She’s playing Icarus.

She dangles headfirst, her body wrapped in the white silks like a shroud. Her arms stretch out to the sides in an upside-down cross, and her eyes are still closed. She's lifeless, swaying slightly like a pendulum, her long hair hanging. Even from this vantage point, it looks soft in the way it swings.

Blake stares at Yang’s supposedly-dead body as if she was the only person on stage. The man who had been dancing on the other silks looks bereft, reaching a hand out toward Yang as the stage darkens. But Blake doesn’t even see him; her sole focus remains on Yang until the lights, at last, go out.

She leans back, taking a deep breath. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding it during Yang’s final descent, so she tries to catch her breath now.

So _that's_ aerial dancing, she thinks as music begins to play for the next act. The slower pace of the orchestra is a sharp contrast to the frenzied staccatos of Yang’s dance, but Blake can’t stop thinking of Yang. The way she spiraled down through the silks, the bouncing of her hair, the tautness of her muscles. It had been so long since Blake had been enchanted-- _truly_ enchanted-- by the thought of a dance.

 _I can do it_ , Blake decides, her heart beginning to patter its excitement. _I can learn how to fly_.

\--

Blake doesn’t remember how the show ends. When the producer rises from his seat before curtain call, Adam and Blake rise with him. He ushers them away and out the door.

“There’s always a rush to get out, after curtain,” Ozpin tells them apologetically. He leads them down a hallway, his cane rapping hard against the tile floor. “And you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, hm?”

“Agreed,” Adam replies smoothly. He carries the programs beneath his arm, which Blake knows she’ll be able to take a closer look at later. But for now, she has a different concern.

“Could I have my phone back?” she asks casually. 

“What?” Adam frowns, but he nods. He reaches into his pocket and hands it back, his blue eyes boring into hers. She knows he’s worrying about making an impression on Ozpin, and that he won’t want her to use the phone while they’re talking. She gives him a quick nod, and a look that she hopes will convey that she doesn’t plan to be rude.

“So, what did you think of the show?” Ozpin asks, turning back to look at them. Blake opens her mouth, but Adam cuts her off.

“It was… interesting,” he replies, still so _smooth_. “Much different than the ballet, I’ll give you that.”

“I studied ballet, back in the day,” Ozpin replied, looking back at them as they rounded the corner. Adam took a few more quick steps; he never likes walking behind anyone. “And I wouldn’t say the circus arts are terribly different. At their core, they’re all related.”

Blake hears Adam scoff, but she doesn’t try to push her way forward. She turns her phone on in her pocket, eyes always darting back up to see if Adam’s watching. Even though he can't see her, she knows he’d still rebuke her for using it now.

“Is… there a bathroom around here?” she asks politely. Adam turns, scowling at her, but Ozpin only nods, expression bland and pleasant.

“Back down the hall, to the left.” He gestures behind them, and Blake gives him a grateful smile. “My office is just at the end of this hall, when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” she says, bobbing her head as they leave her. She can hear them speak, but she tunes them out, already walking the other way.

There’s a dull roar coming from the auditorium, the sound of an audience trying to bustle out. Curtain must be over. Blake picks up her pace, eager to lock herself in a stall before the bathrooms start to crowd.

She shuts the door behind her and clicks the lock shut, then leans against the door. She pushes up her sleeve, punching the numbers into her phone before typing out her message. Her thumbs hover over the screen, uncertain what she wanted to say, or how she wanted to say it.

 _I enjoyed the show_ , she ends up typing. She presses send, then holds her breath. Then, she immediately winces; her message is too plain. She scrambles to think of something to add, maybe something more witty, or clever. Maybe she should’ve prefaced it with an introduction. There was no telling if Yang would even remember her name.

 _Glad you liked it ;)_ comes the response. Blake’s shoulders slump with relief, and then her phone buzzes with another message. _So… what do you think?_

 _I’ve never seen anything like it_. It takes Blake a moment to realize a smile has spread across her cheeks. _Maybe you had a right to brag._

She wonders if her response makes Yang laugh, or smile. She can still hear Yang’s laugh in her mind. She can hear it over the opening and closing of the bathroom door, and excited chatter of the people. All of those sounds are muted when she thinks about that laugh.

_I told you that part was made for me, right?_

_You may have said that once or twice_. Blake’s smile is unrestrained now in the safety of the closed bathroom stall. Already, everything feels so lighthearted, just like it did when they met on the balcony. The barrier of distance didn’t change any of that. She pauses, then adds, _I hope you remember to change out of your costume before you start snacking._

_Wait, you’re not watching me now, are you? How do you know I'm eating??_

This time, Blake _does_ giggle, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle it.

 _I didn't know_ , she admits, _but now your cover’s blown._

_Shit, and I’ve got nothing to buy your silence with this time._

_You might still have something._ Blake pauses, still smiling. _Your offer still open for a lesson?_

Yang’s response comes back quickly. _Of course! You interested?_

 _I am._ Blake feels that old, familiar flutter of excitement. She’d felt this way about ballet, once upon a time, before her enjoyment for it had been sucked dry and left a dull, barren husk. Maybe that joy hadn’t died completely. Maybe she could find it in something new. _If it’s not too much trouble._

 _Of course not, costume police_ , Yang teases. _Let’s see what you’re made of._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	2. Chapter 2

Shattered Moon Circus looks different by day.

Without the packed crowds and dimly-lit streetlights, the Salem Performing Arts Center is almost peaceful. The sprawling complex is tall, and the way it drapes and swoops is reminiscent of a circus tent. At night, it had been illuminated with light, different colors rippling along the tent-roof, a vision against a dark backdrop of sky and the dark, glittering ocean.

But now, all is quiet. The sky is a perfect blue, the roof a plain white. A few people mill about in front of the building, talking and taking pictures. Tourists, probably. Blake isn’t surprised; the SPAC has a beautiful view of the Vale Bay. With that, and the building’s architecture, and the regular circus performances, it’s no wonder this is a tourist hotspot.

Blake’s reason for being here today, however, is definitely not for tourism.

She walks up the stone steps, pausing at the fountain. She hadn’t gotten a chance to admire it last night; Adam had been quick to tug her through the crowd. But now she stands in front of it, looking up at it with awe.

It’s a globe of polished marble, standing taller than Blake. A portion of it looks like it’s been blasted away, as if someone set off dynamite on one side. The fountain must be using gravity dust in some way; the broken portions of the globe hover in the air above and around it, wavering in the ocean breeze. This fountain is a perfect replica of the moon, the namesake of the circus.

Water bubbles up out of the top of it, covering the broken globe with a clear, thin veil, and Blake is struck by the urge to reach her finger out, to touch the white marble and break the thin surface. But there are tourists around, posing for photos in front of the fountain, and Blake resists the temptation.

The glimmer of coins shine at the bottom of the fountain, glinting in coppers and silvers. A lot of people have made wishes at the circus. She figures most of the coins were wishes made by children-- she can see how a circus might inspire wishes in kids. 

With a crooked smile, Blake digs into the pocket of her jeans. She doesn’t make a habit of carrying loose change, but she’s got a leftover quarter from doing her laundry earlier that day. She pulls it out, and thinks.

“For new beginnings, I guess,” she mumbles to herself, and flips the quarter into the water. It hits with a small _plop_. Not a particularly hopeful sound, but it’ll have to do.

Yang had warned her ahead of time that she wouldn’t be able to meet Blake at the entrance for her first aerial dancing lesson. Instead, she’d told Blake which door to come through, and where to meet.

 _trapeze rehearsals_ , Yang had explained apologetically over text, _always tend to run over._

The massive front doors are locked, but Blake ignores them completely, walking around the building instead. There’s a side door, unlabelled and nondescript, that Yang had told her would be unlocked, and when Blake twists the knob, it opens easily.

This wasn’t the actual backstage, Blake quickly realizes. She’s in an offshoot hallway of the main entrance, and the halls look the same as they had the night she’d watched _Legends from Olympus_ , but darker, more empty, colder. The patter of her flats against the hard floor are loud and echoey, so Blake walks just a little bit faster. Even though Yang had assured her it was all right, she couldn’t get past the feeling that she’s an intruder here. What would she do if someone stops her, and tells her to leave?

No one does. Blake finds her way to the arena entrance without so much as seeing another soul. She wrenches open the door, and finds life.

While the audience seats are all empty, the stage is busy with action. Some people are on the stage itself, practicing some sort of dance that looks nothing at all like ballet. But they’re not the ones Blake is looking at; she’s staring up, into the air, at the people on the trapeze.

Trapeze is something Blake’s never thought about, and wouldn’t even know the vocabulary to talk about. It’s a circus game, and nothing more. And yet…

She sees gold. 

Blake walks down the aisle to get closer, squinting, and smiles a little as she recognizes Yang. She’s upside down, dangling by her knees as she swings. Her hair is done up in a bun, her long arms outstretched.

There’s a dark-haired girl on the adjacent swing, kicking into the air and going higher, and even though Blake should know to expect what comes next, her stomach still flutters: The girl is close enough that Yang just _grabs_. Blake stares with wide-eyed amazement as she locks her arms around the girl’s knees. The girl releases her trapeze, Yang her only lifeline as they both swing away from the other bar.

Blake can’t tear her eyes away as Yang and the girl swing again, building momentum. Another person is matching their rhythm to the other side of them, dangling from his knees, swinging in a wide arc. Yang shouts something, and Blake can’t make it out. But then the dark-haired girl is tossed into the air once more.

This time, she’s farther away from her would-be catcher. Blake stiffens, watching her flip through the air several times. But still, her timing is perfect. The man reaches out, catching the woman around the wrists. They swing together, and then the girl is flying once again, twisting in the air back towards Yang.

There’s no hesitation, no doubt. Yang grabs the girl by the wrists now, and Blake is amazed by the perfection of the timing; maybe trapeze acrobatics are just as much a dance as ballet, or even Yang’s aerial dancing.

Yang tosses the girl again, who lands on the platform daintily, with more grace than Blake would’ve thought for someone who’d just been heaved into the air. But the girl is light-footed, and she bounces back before shooting Yang a thumbs-up.

Still swinging, Yang pulls herself up, something Blake _knows_ wouldn’t be easy, swinging from a trapeze like she is, but she makes it look effortless. Her legs swing around and she’s upright, kicking her legs back and forth. She looks like an oversized kid on an oversized swingset, but she takes a moment to look toward the seats.

She must notice Blake; her mouth opens in an _o_ , and then it widens into a smile. Still pumping her legs on the trapeze, she lifts a hand in a small wave before facing forward again. She shouts something incomprehensible to the people in the air with her, and then she’s shifting from a sitting position and dropping again, to dangle from the bar with both hands.

Blake watches, transfixed, as Yang swings with her whole body. She expects a graceful landing on the platform, not unlike what the dark-haired girl had done-- she wouldn’t have been surprised if Yang could manage an even prettier landing. But she’d underestimated Yang’s flair for the dramatic.

Yang reaches the apex of her swing, and lets go of the bar completely.

Well, maybe Blake should’ve expected something like this, but she’s caught off-guard, and she can’t stop herself from gasping as Yang hurls herself weightlessly into the air. She isn’t airborne long; she drops without a sound, arms at her sides as her back hits the net.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Blake mutters, darting closer to the stage. Yang’s laughing, already rolling off the net by the time Blake gets to her.

“I see you found us!” Yang says, grinning, straightening to her feet and wiping her hands on her shorts. They leave behind a faint white residue; she must’ve coated her hands with something. “Sorry I couldn’t meet you at the door.”

“It’s okay,” Blake replies, rolling her eyes good-naturedly as Yang grabs a towel at the base of the ladder. “I’d hate to take away a chance for you to show off.”

“See? You get it.” Yang beams, wiping the sheen of sweat from her forehead. “So, whatcha think?”

“It looks absolutely insane,” Blake answers honestly. “And this is what you _do_? For a living?”

“Sure is!” There’s pride in Yang’s voice, and hearing it makes Blake return the smile. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Yang drapes the towel around her neck; she looks good out of costume, Blake thinks appreciatively. She’s dressed simply for trapeze practice, in just an orange tank top and black spandex shorts, and Blake tries not to stare too openly. Yang isn’t wearing any shoes, or even ballet slippers; she’s barefoot. Then again, Blake thinks, you don’t need shoes when your feet never even touch the ground. What use are shoes to someone who can fly?

There’s an excited flush to Yang’s cheeks-- probably just from the workout-- and Blake suddenly feels bashful. For a brief moment, she has no idea what to say, and she and Yang only look at each other.

“So! Uh…” Blake wracks her brain. “Is this where you’re teaching me?”

“What? Oh!” Yang tightens her grip on each end of her towel. “No. We’ve got practice rooms downstairs. There are some silks set up for classes, and--”

“Welcome to the circus!” a shrill voice hollers to them. Blake looks over at the ladder, where the dark-haired girl is shimmying down. She drops down the last few rungs, hitting the ground with a clap of bare feet. Yang groans.

“Ruby…”

“I see you’ve met our chief clown,” the girl, Ruby, says with a mock salute before stooping down to grab a towel.

“She’s just here for a lesson. Be nice,” Yang reminds her, brows furrowing.

“Oh, yeah! You’re the one from the ballet, right? Blake?” Ruby asks, giving Blake a once-over, measuring her. Then, she grins. “And Yang bullied you into lessons, huh?”

“I’ll show you _bullying_ ,” Yang growls, making a swipe for Ruby, but Ruby hops back and sticks out her tongue. Blake raises a bemused eyebrow, then Yang’s giving her a sheepish smile. “She’s my sister,” she explains, and Blake nods knowingly. She may be an only child, but she understands the dynamic.

“So, it’s a sisterly trapeze act?” Blake asks, looking from one sister to the other. Now that she’s looking at them, she _can_ see a slight resemblance.

“It’s actually more of a whole family thing,” Ruby says cheerfully. “Our parents did trapeze-- our dad and uncle still do, actually. And Dad’s an aerial dancer, too, just like Yang!”

“That’s who I danced with the other night, at the show,” Yang adds. “He was Daedalus to my Icarus.”

“That was your _dad_?”

“Yep!” Yang grins. “Like she said… it’s a family thing.” She pauses. “Though… I hope he didn’t steal my thunder. I worked very hard on that dance, y’know. I had a potential student I was trying to impress.”

“What dance?” Blake asks, feigning surprise. Ruby snorts, and Yang clutches her chest like she’s been shot.

“And she immediately goes for the jugular!” she moans, and Ruby gives her a small shove.

“Drama queen.”

“ _Drama queen_? Excuse me, but--”

“Ruby!” a voice calls from the wings. “Let’s _go_!”

“Shit,” Ruby mutters. “I gotta go.” She claps Blake on the back. “It was nice meeting you! Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Maybe,” Blake replies, smiling, giving her a nod as Ruby skips off. She looks back up at Yang slyly. “If aerial dancing is all it’s cracked up to be.”

Yang’s smile is wide, a challenge accepted. “Well, only one way to find out, huh?”

\--

The practice room is almost like a dance studio, complete with a wall mirror and barre. Mats are set up on the floor, most of them beneath some sort of apparatus; a hoop dangled from a ceiling, a climbing rope. But the most prominent fixtures of the room are the colorful swathes of fabric that hang from the ceiling, the excess sitting in piles atop the mats.

The silks, Blake recognizes immediately.

“I take it you already know how to stretch?” Yang asks teasingly, leaning against the barre and dropping her towel over it. Blake’s already stripping out of her jeans, rolling her eyes.

“I’ve never stretched in my life,” she says seriously, kicking them toward the mirror. She can’t resist a little teasing. “You may need to show me how it’s done.”

“And to think, they let you into the ballet,” Yang replies with mock disapproval as Blake pulls off her sweater, leaving her in her tank top.

“It’s pretty shameful,” she agrees. She runs a hand through her hair, pulling a hair tie from around her wrist to fix her hair into a loose bun. Yang’s watching her in the mirror, eyes fixed on her.

“Well,” she says, leaning against the barre. “Lucky for you, I’m an _excellent_ teacher.”

Playing her part, Yang leads Blake through stretches. While Blake obviously knows how to stretch, she enjoys learning Yang’s particular routine for it, which kinds of stretches she emphasizes and the technique that goes with them. Blake’s eyes constantly flick back and forth from Yang to her reflection, watching her flex from every possible angle. 

A couple times, her eyes lock upon Yang’s own in the mirror. Their gazes always hold for a few seconds in playful challenge, before they both break and look away.

“All right,” Yang says, leading Blake to one of the mats. Purple fabric hangs from the ceiling, pooling onto the mat at their feet. Blake doesn’t touch it yet; she hangs back, and lets Yang grab it first. “These are the aerial silks.”

“Okay,” Blake replies as she looks up to see where it’s attached to the ceiling on some sort of metal contraption. “So how do I start?”

“You climb.” Yang steps closer to the fabric, reaching one arm up. “Watch what I do with my feet here.”

In a smooth, effortless motion, Yang wraps the silks around her calf. She pauses for a moment, lets Blake take a mental note. They’re loose, really. Hardly even a loop.

“You push yourself up,” Yang continues, hopping into the air, extending her leg to keep the silks wrapped. “You sort of use your foot as leverage. Step onto the fabric that’s on the top of your foot, and push yourself up.”

Yang presses her free foot against the silks. She swings slightly, but reaches her arms up, bending her legs and using her whole body to go higher.

“Be careful when you bring your knees up,” she warns, repeating the process slowly, pushing herself again. “It’s easy to lose track of the silks when you change position.”

“Okay,” Blake says, watching Yang go even higher. With the way her arms keep pulling her upward, it’s no wonder they’re so toned.

“Then, when you’re ready to come down…” Yang stops her climbing, holding onto the silks like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You just reach down and slide.”

She demonstrates, sliding down the fabric, the whole motion clear and effortless. Blake’s eyebrows shoot up when Yang sets herself back down on her feet, grinning.

“You ready to give it a try, Belladonna?” she says, looking pleased with herself. And maybe she has a right to; it dawns on Blake that she probably _looks_ impressed with Yang’s simple climb, and she belatedly tries to school her expression.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Good.” Yang holds the silks out to her. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Blake takes the silks in hand, and looks up again before reaching her hands over her head. She picks her leg up, trying to wrap it around her knee and calf as neatly as Yang did. She makes a face.

“Like this?” she asks, and Yang tilts her head critically.

“Sorta.” Yang crouches, fixing the silk a little more loosely and into a better position. She doesn’t get up, however, and remains crouched on the mat, grabbing the silks just beneath Blake’s foot. “I’ll hold it here, so you don’t swing too much.”

“Okay.” Blake looks up again, and takes a deep breath. She kicks that leg out and presses her free foot to the top of the wrapped one. She swings a little, even with Yang holding the end, and it catches her off-guard. She’s used to control on the dance floor; she’s used to formulas and perfect timing. The swing of the silks is a factor she _can’t_ prepare for-- not yet, anyway. Maybe someday, she’ll know how to factor it into routine, but for now, it adds an unpredictable variable to every move she makes.

It’s _different_ , but not necessarily bad.

She reaches up higher on the silks, bringing her knees up and somehow keeping the fabric wrapped around her leg as she climbs higher. 

“You’re doing great!” Yang says, looking up at her with a grin. “Keep going!”

She does it again, feeling the movement with her whole body. She certainly doesn’t move as quickly or as easily as Yang had, but somehow, she’s still pretty high off the ground. She feels a flutter of satisfaction in her, a sense of accomplishment. She looks back down at Yang, who’s bobbing her head and continuing to smile.

“Now slide on down!” she says, and Blake does, still trying to keep her foot wrapped like Yang had done. It unravels by the time she reaches the bottom, though, and Blake steps off it a bit unevenly. Yang sets a hand on her back, the lightest touch to make sure she’s steady on her feet.

“Well… that was cool,” Blake acknowledges, hoping she doesn’t sound _over_ eager. Yang snorts.

“I hope so!” she says, taking the silks in hand again. “I’d be offended if you were bored.”

She teaches Blake how to do an ankle lock, which gives them support in the air in order to move the rest of their bodies more freely. It seems hard, the way Yang seems to tie a knot using only her feet, but she makes it look so simple. Foot securely in place, she leans away from the silks, reaching a long arm out towards Blake.

Blake, unthinking, very nearly grabs her hand.

“How’s this?” Blake asks when it’s her turn, looking down at the knot she’s managed to tie around her ankle. It’s tight, probably due to the fact that it’s holding up her body weight, and Yang nods.

“Wrap your arm around,” she instructs, demonstrating from the ground. “And let yourself lean.”

Blake’s eyes widen as she does so; she doesn’t lean hard, worried that she’ll end up going too far and flipping herself over. But she can see the appeal of the possibilities it gives her. Maybe if she had the right technique, and the confidence, she could give into the weightlessness. It would be so easy to be like Yang, to let go and twirl like _she_ was Icarus. She doesn’t, of course, but she can almost see how she _could_.

That is, if she can get herself upside-down at all.

“Just pick up your legs,” Yang tells her playfully. Blake is standing on the mat, her wrists locked into the silks right behind her.

“Easy for you to say,” Blake mutters. She doesn’t know why she’s so daunted; she’s used to being picked up when she dances, and carried around the stage. But somehow, that’s different than actually facing the ground and being told to let go. She brings her legs up timidly, but when the silks start to wiggle, she instinctively drops them back to the floor. “Sorry!”

“Why are you apologizing?” Yang asks. Blake turns her head to look up at her, and sees a raised eyebrow. “A lot of people struggle with this part. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Did you struggle with it?” Blake asks, stalling for time, feeling the stretch of her arms as she adjusts herself a little. Yang shrugs.

“I don’t know. I’ve been doing this for so long that I don’t remember what it’s like to _not_ do it.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Blake says. She forces a smile. “Gotta say, though, I’m surprised you’re not just kicking my legs out from under me at this point.”

“I don’t do that to students,” Yang replies firmly. “I mean, if they ask me to, then I will. But I’m not going to force anyone into anything, especially if it’s something they might not be ready for.”

Blake blinks, surprised. Yang’s way certainly isn’t Adam’s; he constantly pushes people out of their comfort zone. Whether it’s at the barre, or in the studio, or even the bedroom, he never says a word of warning before twisting Blake’s leg, or arm, or seizing her by the waist to turn her into a better position. More than once, he’d grabbed her foot, trying to bend her leg like a jointed doll to a point where it actually hurt. It’s his way of correcting her, he always insists, and when it makes her fall on her ass, it’s _discipline_.

It’s what makes Adam such a good teacher, she always says, even when she’s icing bruises and pulled muscles from where he’d adjusted her. She’s a better dancer through his instruction, and the bruises are just signs of how badly she’d needed the correction.

Blake supposes she’s forgotten that there are alternative methods of teaching.

“Besides, you got this,” Yang says encouragingly. “You don’t need anyone to force you into it. I know you can do it all on your own.”

Blake looks back down, and draws in a deep breath. This time, when she pushes up, she fights the natural urge to get her feet back on the ground. The silks shake as she tries to hold herself steady, but she’s _done_ it. Her legs are over her head, her core working hard to keep herself jackknifed between the silks.

“See? I knew you could,” Yang says, almost smugly.

“Now what?” Blake asks, trying to steady her arms.

“Bend your knees.”

Blake does, carefully pulling herself into a ball. She holds there for a moment, before Yang tells her to stretch back out. She finds her feet on the mat, face flushed, some of her dark hair escaping her bun. She looks back at Yang, who looks pleased.

“Not bad for your first time,” she says. “Ready to try again?”

\--

The lesson goes by too quickly, and Blake is surprised at how much she’s accomplished. Yang has her upside-down, legs straddled as she dangles from the silks. Her hand is firm on Blake’s back, holding her steady. Blake’s body curls and stretches in new ways, making her core ache. But she keeps pushing herself harder, looping her body through and around the silks, feeling a wave of pride each time Yang gives her a smile and nod of approval.

The silks truly do give a new dimension to dance; there’s no floor to limit how she can move, no gravity to hold her down. She opens her arms and finds only potential, where once she would have found a boundary. She bends her legs to pose in a particular way, something she sometimes does when Adam lifts her into the air. But this time, the only thing keeping her airborne is herself and the silks.

And it’s _liberating_.

“You want me to get a picture?” Yang asks as Blake hovers frozen in the air, a leg crooked in a horizontal passé, one arm outstretched, the purple silks wrapped around her hips. Blake laughs.

“I don’t know…” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Aerial dancing looks _great_ on Instagram,” Yang adds.

Blake doesn’t tell Yang that it probably wouldn’t be a great idea to put it on Instagram-- Adam would have something to say about it, she’s sure-- but she nods anyway.

“Could you take it, and just text it to me?”

“Of course!” Yang is already skittering to the mirror, where they’d both put their things. “Just gimme a sec…”

Blake hangs, somehow so relaxed in this position. Yang snaps a couple pictures, her purple eyes flicking over the phone at Blake.

“You look good,” she remarks, lowering the phone. Blake can feel a blush, but she blames it on exertion.

“Oh… thanks,” she says, looking back toward the mirror while Yang sets the phone back down. And she _does_ like how she looks like this; it’s utterly new, and for the first time in what feels like forever, she feels _excited_.

Yang helps her untie herself from the silks and pull herself free. Blake regrets her return to the floor and to gravity. She lands shakily on her feet, but Yang is right there, setting a quick hand on her waist to help Blake keep her balance. She’s so close, close enough for Blake to smell sweat and chalk.

“You did good today,” Yang says, still beaming with an ever-present smile.

“That…” Blake replies, a tad out of breath, “was awesome.”

Yang laughs, and Blake blushes; she hadn’t meant to let her eagerness slip out. So much for cool aloofness.

“Well,” Yang says, sounding a little too pleased with herself, “you have my number, in case you want to do this again sometime.”

“Right.” Blake shakes her head, trying to clear out the bulk of her post-workout high. She can be cool. “How much do I owe you?”

“What?” Yang lifts an eyebrow.

“For the lesson.”

“Oh.” Now it’s Yang’s turn to blush. She gives Blake a goofy half-smile, then shakes her head. “Nah. This one was free, remember?”

“Huh?”

“Remember?” Yang says again, the pink in her cheeks starting to darken, really bringing out her freckles. She almost sounds hesitant when she goes on to say, “This was in exchange for not ratting me out. About me eating in costume.”

“Oh!” Blake remembers now, but hadn’t thought that Yang had meant that seriously. She’s surprised. “Really?”

“I’m a woman of my word,” Yang says, somehow pushing through her own blush and exuding self-assurance once more. “And now, my debt is paid!”

Blake laughs, but is actually rather touched. Yang had been under no obligation to offer a free lesson to someone she’d never met before, even under the guise of a debt owed. It was unrealistic that Blake, a stranger, would tattle on Yang for something as trivial as eating chips in a costume. Why, then, had she offered? Had she seen something in Blake? Was it because they’d hit it off so well, or was she truly trying to just convert someone new-- and someone who was already a competent dancer-- to aerial dancing?

Blake’s eyes flick back up towards the silks, almost longingly. If that had been Yang’s goal, it’s definitely working.

“Well, I may have to sign up for more sometime,” she admits. They make their way back to the mirror, where Blake had left her clothes. She shakes out her jeans, then steps into them. “I had a good time.”

“Good,” Yang says, and her tone sounds so genuine rather than smug. It’s a nice sort of tone, and if anything, it makes Blake feel more at ease than she ever thought she’d be.

Blake doesn’t pull her sweater back on right away, still feeling hot and sweaty from the workout. Her muscles ache; she’s used a lot of them that she doesn’t normally use in ballet, and she knows she’ll be sore in the morning. But she likes the challenge, and relishes the ache.

“I bet you’d make a great dancer,” Yang adds warmly, looking down at her. Now that she’s on the ground, Blake’s more than aware of the height difference, and she feels a flutter in her stomach.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Yang’s still smiling as she nods. She’s so free with her smiles, unbridled, like she’s never had a reason to hold them back. “With enough practice, you might even be as good as me someday.”

“I doubt that,” Blake scoffs, though she can’t hold back a smile of her own. Yang’s is contagious, apparently. “I don’t think I’d ever be capable of doing what you did the other night.”

“Never say never,” Yang says, eyes twinkling.

They stand there for a moment, just looking at each other. It’s like being on the silks all over again, that same exhilaration as the first time she’d let go and turned upside down. Looking into Yang’s eyes, Blake’s freefalling.

God, she never wants to feel the ground again.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, Miss Belladonna.”

And Blake _crashes_ back to the ground again. She leaps back from Yang like she’s been caught doing something wrong, ears shooting up in alarm.

It takes her a minute to place the man in the doorway, even though she just saw him the other night. He’s got both hands on his cane, and his gray hair makes him _seem_ old, though his face otherwise looks fairly young. His eyes are hidden behind dark lenses, but Blake has a feeling that his stare is solely on her.

Dr. Ozpin, the producer for the Shattered Moon Circus.

“Oh, hey Oz,” Yang says, folding her hands behind her head as she leans back casually. “I didn’t know you knew Blake.”

“We met the other night,” he replies pleasantly, and Blake feels a twinge of guilt at the memory of that meeting; Adam had been extremely patronizing towards him throughout their meetings. She wouldn’t be surprised if Dr. Ozpin decided to treat her with animosity. “I see the circus made an impression on you, Miss Belladonna.”

“I enjoyed the show,” Blake says cautiously. Beside her, Yang lets out a snort. Blake elbows her, and Yang’s snort becomes a full laugh.

“She enjoyed it enough to take me up on an offer of a lesson,” Yang teases. Blake feels herself blush.

It’s hard to tell, but she thinks Dr. Ozpin is close to actually smiling.

“I see,” he says. His head drifts to the side, settling on Yang. “Weiss sent me here to let you know you’re late.”

Yang groans. “I _told_ her I had a lesson.”

“And you went…” Dr. Ozpin pauses, looks at his watch. “Fifteen minutes over.”

“Shit.” Yang sighs. “Tell her I’ll be right there. I just need to walk Blake--”

“Fortunately, I’m done with my own obligations for the day,” Dr. Ozpin says mildly. “Meanwhile, I think Weiss will have both your head _and_ mine if you take another five minutes. I can escort Miss Belladonna out.”

“Oh.” Yang hesitates. Blake shoots her a glance, and is surprised that Yang seems slightly crestfallen. “I… guess that makes sense.”

Blake’s hackles rise, but she knows she doesn’t have a right to argue. Yang’s a busy woman, with lots of commitments, and Dr. Ozpin _had_ been courteous to her on the night of the show. Blake has no reason to be as disappointed as she is that it’s him who’ll lead her out of the SPAC building instead of Yang.

“Well…” Blake says, trying to infuse more cheer into her tone than she really felt. “I enjoyed my lesson today, Yang.”

“Oh! Yeah. Me too.” She pauses, suddenly flustered. “I mean, I enjoyed teaching you!”

Blake laughs, and lets herself reach out to give Yang’s upper arm a quick, reassuring squeeze, her biceps tight under Blake’s hand.

“I’ll be in touch,” Blake promises, more for herself than for Yang.

Yang tilts her head, smiles, then nods. “I’ll look forward to it.”

She collects her phone and water and heads past Dr. Ozpin, toward the door. She pauses, and turns her head to give Blake a last, lingering look.

And then, she’s gone, leaving Blake and Dr. Ozpin behind in the empty studio.

It’s like Yang took the room’s warmth with her. Blake pulls her sweater on, now feeling cold. Dr. Ozpin doesn’t move, though he looks up at the purple silks that Blake had just been using.

“All right, I’m ready,” Blake says, straightening out her sweater. He nods, and she follows him out of the studio, though she glances behind her once more at the silks before he shuts off the lights.

“You’re a natural on the silks,” he remarks, leading her down the long hall. Blake frowns.

“How do you know?”

“I watched a little of your lesson, at the end.”

“What?”

Dr. Ozpin stops walking. Long curtains drape periodically down the hallway, and he pulls one back. Blake blinks with surprise.

She’s looking right back into the studio. It’s dark now, but she sees shadows of silks and hoops dangling from the ceiling. Puzzled, she looks back at him.

“The mirrors are two-way,” he explains. “They allow us to observe without distracting the performers.”

“Wow,” Blake murmurs, touching a finger to the glass. She would never have known. “That’s… pretty fancy.”

“Hardly.” He chuckles. “Most of the important business happens on the main stage, anyhow.”

“Oh.” Blake considers. “Well… it’s still pretty interesting.” She pauses. “So you were watching me?”

“I was curious,” he admits without shame. “I have season passes for the White Fang Ballet. I’ve seen you perform before, so I wanted to see how that translated to aerial dancing.”

“I see.” They resume their walk down the hallway, Blake carefully keeping her eyes ahead. She doesn’t feel the same sort of natural ease with him as she does with Yang, so she keeps her guard up and her tone professional. “Well, it’s definitely like nothing I’ve ever done before. I’m thinking about taking another lesson, one of these days. Especially since our season is almost over.”

“You’re more than welcome to take any sort of lessons here,” Dr. Ozpin said with a small chuckle. “We offer classes in many varieties of circus arts here.”

“Like juggling?”

Dr. Ozpin chuckles again. “Juggling is considered a circus art, yes. But we also teach acrobatics, in addition to aerials. Yang is also a capable trapeze instructor.”

“Trapeze would be a little much for me,” Blake says, shaking her head as they climb the stairs.

“But the silks weren’t.”

“Well, the silks weren’t up _that_ high,” she points out. Dr. Ozpin nods his head in agreement.

“True. But it’s human nature to want to test your limits. To push your own boundaries, and see exactly how much you’re capable of.” She thinks he smiles. “You never really know until you try.”

 _Never say never_ , Yang had told her.

“I’ll just keep it simple with aerial dance for now,” Blake says, smiling somewhat weakly.

“That’s fair,” Dr. Ozpin replies. He bobs his head in acquiescence. 

They reach the top of the stairs, and push through the doors. They’re right outside the box office, posters from the current show lining the wall. When Blake looks at the nearest poster, she smiles. It’s Yang, dangling upside down, arms spread wide in her final pose as Icarus. It’s an iconic pose, really, and in Blake’s opinion, it’s a beautiful choice for a poster.

Dr. Ozpin turns back to her, and Blake realizes she’s totally stopped in her tracks. She flushes, and wrenches her eyes away from Yang’s image in order to catch up. There’s a hint of amusement in the corners of Dr. Ozpin’s mouth, which Blake pointedly ignores.

“I know that the circus arts may not be as… _glamorous_ as ballet, but I think you’ll find-- or you may have already-- that they have their own allure.”

“I definitely see it.” Blake is definitely not thinking of Yang on that poster.

“I’m glad to hear it. So many people are dismissive when they hear the word _circus_.”

“Yeah.” Blake winces. “I’m… sorry if we seemed rude the other night.” By _we_ , she meant Adam, of course, but she doesn’t need to make excuses for herself. After all, she could’ve tried to rein in his backhanded compliments. “I really did enjoy the show.”

“If you hadn’t, I suspect I wouldn’t have found you here today.” He comes to a halt at a door marked _EXIT_. “I do hope you continue with your lessons. Having seen your skill on the stage firsthand, I have no doubt you’ll take to the silks quickly.” He pauses. “In fact,” he adds thoughtfully, “a dancer of your caliber could do very well here, if that was what they wanted to do.”

“What?” Blake is taken aback. “Are you saying…?”

“I hope to see you again, Miss Belladonna,” he says, graciously pushing the door open. “You’re always welcome here.”

“I… thank you.” Blake’s brows are drawn, but she nods. 

What exactly had he meant, _a dancer of your caliber could do very well here_? He knew she was a principal ballerina at the world-famous White Fang Ballet. It would be career suicide to quit. As tempting as it would be to leave Adam and his oppressive ways behind, this is what she’s built up her whole life around. It’s an idea she shouldn’t even entertain.

Blake can’t just run away and join the circus.

But it’s all Blake can think about as she takes the train back to the other side of Vale. She frowns and considers-- all in hypotheticals, of course-- what that future might look like. It was hard to even fathom a world without the White Fang Ballet. It’s what she wanted for as long as she could remember. She’d paid for her role in blood, sweat, and tears. She’d earned her place. Throwing it all away was nothing short of foolish.

And yet…

She’d felt so free today. She can’t remember the last time she’d felt that way. Certainly not in Adam’s studio, with his hands on her, always squeezing a little too tightly. Certainly not on his stage, where she always felt his cold gaze, constantly evaluating her and readying his tongue for harsh criticism. Somehow, when she hung from the silks, gracefully pulling herself through the air, she could remember what that freedom was supposed to feel like.

She hadn’t even realized she’d been so starved for it. 

Blake emerges from the train station near Adam’s place, squinting against the sunlight. She pulls out her phone and feels a small, eager flutter in her stomach when she sees who texted.

_I almost forgot to send you this!_

Blake opens the attached image, smiling at the picture Yang had taken of her. Her limbs are stretched out, her leg bent, a semi-amused half-smile on her face. The silks are wrapped around her, and even though she’d just come from her lesson, she’s caught up in amazement that she can do something like _that_.

When was the last time ballet had made her feel this way?

 _Thank you so much, again,_ Blake texts back, taking her time in walking back to the apartment. _I had such a good time._

_happy to hear it! ;) lmk if you’re ever interested in doing it again sometime!_

_Definitely_ , Blake says, slowing her pace. She bites her lip, thinking of something, but not sure if it would come off as rude. Slowly, she begins to type, _Would you be up for another trade?_

_for a lesson? that depends. what do you have in mind?_

Blake types quickly, fingers sliding over the keys. _If you’re not interested, don’t feel obligated to accept. It’s just an idea. I was thinking, since I’ve seen one of your shows… would you like to see one of mine?_

She hits send, feeling a little breathless. It’s probably a stupid idea. Yang probably doesn’t even like ballet. Circus and ballet are very different, after all. She’s already typing a response, to assure Yang again that she doesn’t _have_ to accept the offer, but--

 _I’d love to!_ Yang replies. _especially after seeing how you were today. I bet you’d shine on the real stage, and I’d love to see for myself how good you are._

Even though Yang isn’t here to see it, Blake feels herself blush. She can’t stop the smile from spreading. _Our season is wrapping up_ , she sends, _but I think I could manage to get you a ticket._

_then I think I could manage another lesson for you ;)_

She feels a swell of excitement and, still smiling, she looks up, past the tall buildings of Vale and toward the blue sky. She’s done countless shows before. She’s danced for years, in front of thousands of people. But for some reason, the thought of dancing for Yang feels entirely different. When she closes her eyes, she feels sunlight warm on her face. 

If this was how Icarus had felt as he’d flown toward the sun, Blake thinks, no wonder he’d kept flying. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: a brief moment of physical abuse

Blake bends at the torso, keeping one hand on the barre, feeling the stretch along her body, wishing it was enough to distract from the flutter in her stomach.

There shouldn’t be any fluttering in her stomach, she reminds herself, slowly rising back up. She’s got hundreds of performances under her belt. She’s danced under much more stressful circumstances. Yes, it’s always exciting to wrap up a season, but they rarely make her feel _nervous_.

Then again, trying to impress someone in the audience always made shows a little more nerve-wracking.

She hasn’t seen Yang since that first lesson, though they’d continued to text each other almost daily. It was just to discuss the technicalities, of course. Such as how to claim her ticket at the box office, or how to get to the Menagerie Opera House, or where to park. The fact that this was all information Yang could’ve easily gotten with a quick google search was something neither of them even mentioned.

Blake continues to go through the motions of warming up; knees bending into plié, rising back up in relevé, arm reaching over her head. Usually, she likes having the studio to herself, where she can find her zen before a big show. But now all she can think about is Yang, and her own growing excitement for this particular performance.

Now it’s her turn to show off her skills.

But she’s not so out of it that she doesn’t hear the door open. She tenses, her ears pricking up, eyes flickering toward the door. Adam strides in, and the door clicks behind him.

Blake doesn’t relax. She keeps an eye on him in the mirror as she continues her warm-up, knowing he can’t really say much about something as basic as a warm-up, but still feeling the effects of his scrutiny. It’s enough to make all thoughts of Yang disappear in a flash, and for all the distraction it had been, Blake would have rather had that than Adam’s cold blue eyes.

He watches silently for a moment, eyes roaming her body, before he finally says, “You’ve been sloppy this week, Blake.”

“Sorry,” Blake says. She turns, more focused on watching him in the mirror than she is on her own form. “I’ll be more careful tonight.”

“You will,” he says. This isn’t about showing confidence in her; it’s a threat. He steps closer, and Blake doesn’t let herself react as he positions his hands on her hip, a little too low and firm to be a simple correction of posture. “This is the last show of the season, my love. It needs to be perfect.”

“It will,” she says, finally forcing her eyes to look forward instead of at their reflections. It’s hard to do a rond de jambe with him directly behind her, but she doesn’t let herself react as she works around him. “Could I have a little space, please? I’m trying to warm up.”

He doesn’t move, but Blake hadn’t really expected him to. Her foot glides back around to the front, and then she rises into a relevé. Gracefully, she bends one knee into passé, then unfolds that leg into the air. Her arm comes up, too, reaching fifth position as her leg rises higher, above her head, into a proper and elegant developpé.

Suddenly, Adam grabs her by the ankle.

She yelps as he pushes against her limit, straining the muscles in her hips as he lifts her leg higher. Her arm drops, automatically flying backward and gripping Adam. She tries to push herself up higher to relieve the strain, but Adam takes it as an invitation to lift her leg even more. She cries out, and tries to wrench her leg from his grasp, but he holds on.

“This show needs to be perfect,” he repeats quietly. Blake’s leg shakes violently; as a dancer, she’s flexible, but even she has limits, and Adam is blowing past them, to a point where it feels like he may just snap her in two, or jerk her leg out of its socket. “And I’m going to make sure of that.”

“It will be!” she gasps. “Let go! You’re _hurting_ me!”

He releases her, and Blake’s leg drops back down to the floor. Her joint feels overstretched, and with a wince, she massages the crease of her thigh.

“That idiot from the circus is coming to see the show tonight,” Adam says conversationally, turning from Blake and walking along the barre, his hand skimming the length of the smooth wood. His eyes still glance backward at her reflection. “Ozpin. We’re going to show him what a _real_ show is. We can leave no room for error.”

Blake says nothing, only clenching her jaw. She hopes he hadn’t pulled a muscle with that stunt, or else she really _wouldn’t_ be able to dance. Already, she felt a small burning spark of anger: this was supposed to be _her_ night. If he ruined that by injuring her…

“That’s why I told Fennec to take the night off,” he goes on, turning back to her. He leans against the barre, and Blake processes what he just said, a little delayed as her brain catches up to what he means. Her eyes widen.

“It’s the last show,” she says, a waver in her voice. “You’re replacing him for the last _show_?”

“It’s the only way I can ensure it goes off without a hitch,” he replies, folding his arms. “To make sure _you_ pull your weight this time.”

“But--”

“If you hadn’t been so lazy last time,” he says patiently, “then maybe I could trust you to do this without my supervision. But I can’t take any chances, Blake. You know that, right?”

He walks back toward her, his ballet slippers softly padding against the floor. She doesn’t recoil, even when he steps too far into her space and places his hands on her hips. Now that he’s made his point with his show of force, he’s all tenderness now. Even loving.

It makes Blake feel sick.

“Besides, it’s appropriate, isn’t it?” he asks softly. “This is a story of two lovers. It’s only right, that we should perform it together. It’ll give them a show to remember.”

 _A show to remember_. Blake’s heart sinks, and she curses herself; if she’d been better, and hadn’t let herself be distracted by dreams of taking flight, she wouldn’t have to suffer through a show with him and his arrogance, his egotism…

“Let’s run through it a bit,” he says, jutting his head toward the dance floor. He doesn’t lean in to kiss her; he’s already five steps ahead, his head already in the dance. Blake can’t say she’s disappointed.

She steps out onto the dance floor, moving into position. She winces a little on her leg, but the pain is already subsiding. She’ll need to be careful on it, but she’s used to this precarious balance of injury and self-preservation.

But she’s tired of balancing, and wonders if it might just be better to let herself fall.

\--

 _The Girl in the Tower_ , a classic love story. Blake had been so excited when she’d been cast as the titular role, Princess Salem. She’d grown up not only reading the fairy tale, but also watching adaptations, both in film and on stage. As a child, she’d worn out her VHS copy of the Atlas Ballet Company’s televised performance of it. It had been a dream come true to be cast as the star in this show at last.

Now, sharing the spotlight with Adam, those dreams feel flat.

It starts off well enough. Blake throws herself into each step, feeling that spark of excitement when she reminds herself that Yang is in the audience somewhere, watching her. Even though Blake has no idea where she is, she can almost _feel_ Yang’s eyes on her as she leaps across the stage, arms spreading gracefully.

 _I’m here_ , Yang had texted earlier, before Blake had shut her phone off. _break a leg, babe_.

 _Babe_ , Blake had thought to herself. It was a word that didn’t mean anything, but for some reason, it lifted Blake’s spirits.

She clings to that word even now, in the masquerade scene. It’s supposed to be a playful scene, with Princess Salem sneaking dances with the charming warrior, Ozma. During this masquerade, her costume is at its most elaborate, white and purple and gold. Her skirt mills around her as she twirls, and it’s supposed to evoke a night of near freedom from her confinement. This is the scene where the princess tests the boundaries of her cage, where she learns to dare, to push her own limits as she keeps returning to the handsome stranger. She whisks across the floor, spinning and leaping from the arms of one dancer to another. 

She dances with different members of the company, but always somehow returns to Ozma. Whether it’s chance, fate, or decision, the audience is supposed to be kept guessing, and to watch the way their connection grows, falling into love like a vine upon a trellis.

With Adam, it’s anything but natural.

As she moves across the stage, he moves like he’s chasing her. This is a hunt more than a dance, and Blake is the unwitting prey. Each contact with him isn’t easygoing or light-hearted; he seizes her hand, and grips her waist with more force than necessary as he pulls her to him. She tries not to let her expressions show her unease, but each beat she dances with him feels excruciatingly long. She’s smothered by his shadow, and every time she emerges from it, she feels relief.

After the masquerade, she’s returned to her tower room, where she glides dismally from her mirror to the window, the strings melancholy. Oddly, it’s in this sad, confined song where Blake feels most free. Her simple nightgown whirls around her, remembering that somewhere in the crowd, Yang is watching her. She puts her all into the scene, and by the time the lights darken for intermission, she feels like that just may have been her best performance of it she’d done all season.

She’s grinning widely as she exits the stage, where Ilia is waiting for her with a bottle of water.

“First act of the last show, done!” Ilia says, wearing a grin of her own. She’s already changed into her next costume, the red uniform of a palace soldier. “How’re you feeling?”

“Great!” Blake replies when she’s swallowed. She smiles again, feeling the genuine high of a well-done performance; she can even forget the discomfort of the masquerade scene. A part of her is tempted to see if Yang’s texted her during intermission, but she resists the urge. “After this, I think I need, like, a whole day just to sleep.”

“I hear ya,” Ilia says, laughing. “Especially after the party tonight. Trifa said she was going to--”

“Blake should be getting changed right now,” a hard voice interrupts. Ilia stiffens, wary. Blake sees the way she clenches her jaw, and that familiar sick feeling settles into her stomach. Adam steps beside them, already changed into the skin-tight green and gold unitard of the second act. He carries a wooden staff in one hand, a glimmering green jewel at its tip.

He spins it lazily in his hand. A threat.

“Right,” she says hastily. Ilia backs away, her freckles automatically turning white with worry before she turns. As she walks away, she glances back behind them; she knows Adam enough to know what he’s capable of. At the same, Ilia’s also powerless and this, too, is something Blake understands. Their spots in the White Fang Ballet are wholly dependent on his whims.

It’s only when she’s gone that Adam speaks again. He’s another inch closer to Blake, and he brings the staff up. He prods it underneath her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

“What happened with the masquerade, Blake?” he asks quietly. She grits her teeth, feels a flare of anger.

“Nothing,” she replies, tone clipped. “ _I_ danced perfectly.”

The slight doesn’t go unheard, and he jerks the staff upward slightly. She feels her jaw snap shut, and she’s looking up into the catwalk.

“We have one more act,” he reminds her unnecessarily. He pauses. “You will not fuck it up.”

By then time she gets back to her dressing room, she’s still shaking. She undresses messily, pulling on the simple white leotard she finishes the show in. Where there was once excitement, Blake only feels dread; for the rest of the show, for the end of the season, and whatever comes after. 

Every time. How does Adam do this to her _every time_?

It’s only when she’s pinning a small golden circlet to her hair that she even thinks of her phone. Her ears perk up, and she snatches it off the vanity. She has a few minutes, since it’s still intermission, especially since the second act starts without her. When the phone buzzes on, she finds a weak smile again.

_you’re amazing out there._

Blake isn’t sure if Yang has much time to respond, so her fingers fly over the keys. _So I met your expectations, then?_

 _more than_ , Yang replies, and Blake realizes that she’s no longer shaking. _can I see you after? I should ask for your autograph._

Blake hesitates. There _was_ the afterparty to go to… but it wouldn’t be hard to sneak away for a few minutes.

 _There’s a service entrance in the lobby, toward the rear of the building,_ Blake types. There’s never much traffic in that direction, and she can easily sneak Yang backstage that way. _Wait for me?_

Yang’s reply is immediate.

 _I will_.

\--

The whole show is a progression, from the elaborate and classical, into the simple and modern. It’s reflected in the scenery, which becomes more and more minimalistic in each scene, and in the music, which descends from a full-blown symphony into quartets, duets, and solos. The costumes, however, is where this change is most noticeable. 

In her simple white leotard, Blake feels more exposed now, not even wearing tights. It serves to highlight her lean muscles, to create a more striking silhouette when the lights hit her just right. As Princess Salem gives up her luxurious, if confined, life in her tower, she embraces the simplicity of the world and steps into the light.

There’s a battle, where she and Adam dance through the company, using magic to fight their way out of the tower. Princess Salem and Ozma are equally matched, using magic to strike down the palace guards as they escape, joyfully emerging from the tower as partners.

At least, that’s how it should be.

Adam’s shadow looms, and Blake finds herself sucked into it, and it sticks to her skin as Adam always somehow keeps a step ahead of her. It’s a subtle difference, unlikely to be noticed by anyone except her, or maybe some of the more observant dancers; the slight shifting of angles, his posture, his expressions… he doesn’t want this to be about working _together_. 

He’s rescuing a damsel in distress. He’s the _hero_ of this story.

The battle transitions into a pas de deux, a dance shared between only Blake and Adam. If anything, his changes here are more explicit than in the battle. He moves aggressively, rigidly, smugly, and though Blake keeps her own motions loose and free, he moves her like a chess piece around the stage. He lifts her into the air triumphantly, and she is his trophy.

 _You’re my prize_ , his stance says. _You are my conquest_.

She twirls prettily en pointe, and his arms are a cage. If she really _were_ Princess Salem, she’d be running back into that tower. Unfortunately, she’s on stage, and there’s nowhere to go.

Blake positions herself for her last pirouette, and as she spins, it’s the only time throughout the whole dance that she actually feels free.

Blake had been expecting the final curtain call to be bittersweet. Now, as she takes Adam’s hand and bows, it feels more bitter than anything else. With Fennec, they’d had a good rapport as partners in this dance. But with Adam…

It just feels ruined.

It’s a standing ovation, and Blake wonders cynically if any of these people even noticed the difference in this show. She looks vainly among the dark audience for Yang, wondering if _she_ had been able to see the discord between them. 

Then again.. maybe she was being too sensitive, or maybe her bias against Adam had lent into her over-analysis of the show. But now that she’s no longer dancing, guilt starts to sneak in; Adam hadn’t _really_ done anything wrong, had he? The show _had_ been a success.

She’s just being selfish, an uncomfortable part of herself whispers. Maybe he’s right about her.

The minute the curtain closes, Adam’s mouth is on hers, tugging her closer by her leotard. Around them, some of Adam’s cronies whoop and holler, and even the regular dancers are caught up in the moment, applauding and laughing. They’re all riding the high of a wrapped season, and Blake’s just collateral. A conquest, much like how she felt in that pas de deux.

Adam finally releases her, and Yuma lets out a wolf whistle. She shoots him a glare, but Adam only laughs, wrapping an arm around her.

“You’re making the lady _uncomfortable_ ,” he scolds Yuma mockingly, giving Blake a little squeeze of emphasis. For some reason, this sets them all to laughing again, and Blake can feel her face heat up. But he doesn’t dwell on it, and moves on almost immediately. “So. Congratulations, everyone, on a season well done.”

Everyone whoops and hollers more vigorously now, but Blake doesn’t join in; Adam’s hold on her is still tight. He lifts up his other hand, calling for silence.

“I’d like to remind everyone that we have a wrap-up meeting tomorrow afternoon. Attendance will be mandatory, if you hope to extend your stay with the White Fang Ballet,” he adds. He pauses, probably for drama. “But tonight…” A slow smile spreads across his face, all teeth. “We can celebrate.”

The dancers cheer again, and Blake smiles weakly. Adam finally lets her go, and she takes an automatic step away.

“I’ll join you all there shortly,” he promises, running a hand through his red hair. “I have a quick meeting to attend.”

He looks back at Blake, and she nods. It’s understood that she’ll wait for him while he's in that meeting-- where he'll gloat to Dr. Ozpin, she assumes-- and that they’ll leave for the party together. It means she has plenty of time to change out of her costume and make herself presentable for the party.

And, of course, it also means she has time to meet up with Yang.

She darts to the dressing room, pulling the circlet out of her hair before she’s even closed the door behind her. She makes a beeline for her phone, unlacing her pointe shoes while it turns on. She hasn’t even finished with one before she sees a message light up on her screen.

 _I think I’m in the right spot?_ Yang’s text says.

_I’m on my way!_

Blake pulls off her shoes in record time, only slipping on some flip-flops before rushing back out the door. Worrying that she’s kept Yang waiting too long, she doesn’t even think to grab a sweatshirt; she’s still only in her white leotard when she makes it to the service entrance, slightly out of breath. She pushes open the door gingerly, and peeks outside.

This part of the lobby is nearly empty. Right by the door, Yang leans against the wall, dressed casually in a white t-shirt and green flannel, playing on her phone. Her blonde hair hangs loose over her shoulders, giving Blake an immediate flashback of how it had looked under the lights, when Yang had stepped out of the seashell as Aphrodite. This is the first time Blake’s seen her in street clothes, but even now, she still makes Blake’s stomach flop pleasantly.

“I see you found the right place,” she says, the words dropping awkwardly out of her mouth. Inwardly, she cringes (she should’ve planned to say something _smoother_ ), but Yang’s already looking over, lighting up.

“I like to think I’m not _too_ directionally challenged,” Yang jokes, straightening up. She looks Blake over, face flushing slightly; Blake's state of dress hasn’t gone unnoticed, and even though she’d literally just performed in it, Yang can’t seem to stop herself from looking. 

It takes her a few seconds to recover, snapping her eyes up from Blake’s legs to her eyes with a sheepish expression.

“You know…” Yang says lowly, a smile curling. “I don’t think people in costume are supposed to be out in the lobby.”

“What are you, the costume police?” Blake teases.

This gets a laugh out of Yang, and before Blake can think of actions and consequences, they’re hugging. Blake isn’t sure who went for it first, or how they even crossed the space to each other. Maybe it’s something they don’t even have to think about; this is something natural, something they might’ve been doing all along. She throws her arms around Yang and sinks against her, closing her eyes and smiling.

And Yang is a _great_ hugger. Her arms circle around Blake’s back, and Blake feels _warm_. Yang smells like coffee with a hint of laundry detergent, making Blake remember that she’s probably sweaty after the show. But Yang doesn’t seem to notice, one hand slowly rubbing along the skin of Blake’s back. It feels so perfectly comfortable, and so perfectly tempting.

Blake can sense when the hug has gone on too long, but Yang seems just as regretful when they pull away. She’s biting her lip when she looks at Blake, and Blake can feel her whole body blush. She clears her throat.

“I can’t stay long,” she admits, shoulders slumping slightly. “I have an afterparty to go to, and… my ride…”

“I get it,” Yang replies cheerfully, then gives Blake a wink. “I’m sure the prima ballerina is in high demand tonight. I’m honored that she’d take time out of her schedule to say hello to a fan.”

Blake snorts. “Is that what you are now?”

“Uh, yeah. Your biggest fan, actually.”

“I didn’t know I had a biggest fan. I thought you were just my teacher, or something.”

“Well, that too.” Yang grins, then holds up a finger. “Wait. I got you something.”

“You _got_ me something?” Blake asks, raising an eyebrow. Yang crouches down, and grabs something that had been laying on the floor, something Blake hadn’t even noticed. When she stands back up, Blake’s eyes go wide.

Yang’s holding out a single, long-stemmed sunflower.

“For me?” Blake asks uncertainly. Yang twirls the flower between her thumb and forefinger, her smile relaxed.

“I didn’t sneak a sunflower into the theatre and hide it under my seat just to show it off and keep it for myself,” Yang replies cheerfully.

“You didn’t have to do that!” Blake’s definitely blushing now, when Yang pushes the flower into her hands. Their fingers brush against each other, and Yang closes Blake’s around the stem.

“It’s your season finale!” Yang reminds her, letting her hand fall away. “You deserve _something_. I thought a full bouquet might’ve been, like, too forward or something… but there’s nothing wrong with just _one_ flower, right?”

Blake lifts the flower in front of her face, trying to hide just how wide her smile’s grown. “You didn’t need to get me _anything,_ remember?” she says. “This is supposed to be a _trade_.”

“And the trade’s still on,” Yang replies, shrugging one shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, this wasn’t any trouble at all. I mean, Weiss-- that’s my roommate-- she’ll probably yell at me later. I sorta stole it from her.”

“So you’re giving me stolen contraband?” Blake asks, laughter rippling her words.

“It’s not like-- well, shit.” Yang laughs, shoulders shaking as she presses her palm to her face. Then, she holds up her hands in surrender. “Let me explain. She likes to pretend she can arrange flowers, right? Always buys flowers at Trader Joe’s and sets them in the entryway.”

“So you just... stole one.”

“Well, I was about to head over here, and when I saw that freshly-made bouquet… inspiration struck.”

“For _theft_?”

They both devolve into giggles, and Blake’s mouth hurts with the force of her smile. They inch toward each other, Blake not even realizing it until they’re inches from each other. Gravity’s like that, she supposes; it happens without anyone even realizing it. Blake looks up, and their eyes meet. So close, the light lilac of Yang’s eyes draws her in, and she’s breathless; neither of them can pull away.

Yang’s smile seems to soften as they gaze at each other, her eyes searching Blake’s.

“You really were great out there tonight,” she tells her, tone a little more quiet now. She pauses. “You were beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”

Blake swallows. The sincerity in Yang’s voice is a shock to the system, smoothing over the jagged pieces Adam had broken off of her that night. Even if Yang doesn’t mean it that way, they’re comforting to hear.

“Um…” Blake says, momentarily losing her train of thought. She blinks, breaking the spell Yang’s cast on her, just long enough to form coherent sentences again. “Thank you.”

Her heart is pounding when Yang draws back; she’s surprised by how much she wants the opposite. She wants Yang closer instead, to close the gap between them.

She wants it so much it almost hurts.

“I can’t wait to see you on the silks again,” Yang admits, leaning back against the wall. “Now that I’ve seen what you’re capable of…” She shrugs. “I’d like to see what else it means for you.”

“Yeah?” Blake joins her against the wall, pleased that they’re now close enough to touch. It’s cold in the lobby, but Yang is warm, and her flannel is soft on Blake’s skin.

“With your skills, you really _will_ take to the silks naturally,” she says. “Hell, you could be _good_. Maybe even as good as me someday.”

Yang smirks as she says this, and Blake returns it with a smile of her own. She twirls the sunflower between her fingers thoughtfully.

“I’m surprised you want to create more competition,” Blake says coolly. Yang shakes her head slowly, her smirk widening.

“Nah,” she says, waving her hand, simultaneously pressing herself closer against Blake. “Not competition.”

“Then what?”

“Well…” Yang turns toward her, her face so _close_. “I was thinking you’d be more like… a dance partner.”

\--

 _Partners_.

Blake finds a small vase, then sets the sunflower in front of the mirror in her dressing room. Among the large bouquets she’s received as the principal dancer for a season finale, this little flower is almost drowned out. But it’s the only flower Blake has eyes for, and she stares at it.

 _Partners_.

Yang _believes_ in Blake, and is so confident in her abilities that she’s already thinking toward the future, to a day when they can twirl in the air _together_. What would it be like, to share the silks with Yang? To swing in her arms, instead of Adam’s?

Blake should know better than to trust her instincts; they’d let her down too often before. There was absolutely no logical reason to believe in Yang.

And yet…

 _Partners_.

Yang’s eyes are seared into her head, as if Blake’s stared too long into the sun. She drowns in them, so much that even as she stares at the sunflower, she can imagine the soft lilac of Yang’s eyes over them.

 _Okay_ , Blake thinks. _Maybe I_ do _like her._

It’s such an absurd thought. Before, she’d tried to deny any sort of feelings she’d been developing for Yang. They’d really only talked twice before that night, after all, and though she’d been able to admit that Yang was attractive, she could convince herself that attraction was all it was. She had no reason to feel anything more beyond professional respect. 

But she’d called Blake beautiful, hadn’t she? Yang wouldn’t just call her beautiful like that, and look at her so softly for no reason… right?

_Partners._

Oh, Blake knows, realistically, that Yang only meant _dance_ partners. Neither of them would have had no reason to expect anything more. 

Still, something about the word shoots a strange thrill along Blake’s spine. 

Behind her, the door creaks open. Blake jumps, whirls around, and glowers as Adam slips into the dressing room.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” she asks irritably. He returns the glare.

“Why are you still in costume?” He pulls out a chair and sits in it, staring a little too intently at her. She bristles; she’s used to changing in front of him, but she never likes his entitlement about watching. Especially after the way the show went. _Especially_ now that she’s got fleeting thoughts of freedom racing through her head.

“I got caught up with Ilia and everyone,” Blake replies with a shrug. She turns away as she starts to pull her leotard off; even if she can’t stop him from leering, she can at least control the extent of what he sees tonight. “How was Dr. Ozpin?”

Adam lets out a snort. “ _Him_ ,” he says with disdain. “I think the circus addled his brain.”

“What do you mean?” Blake glances back over her shoulder as she works her bra back on. Adam rolls his eyes.

“He said it was _very good_ ,” he replies mockingly. “But when I asked him, he said it wasn’t the _best_ he’d seen.”

Blake knows better than to say anything. She pulls her sweater on, and can practically _hear_ the way Adam’s fuming.

“So then I asked if he’s even _seen_ our reviews,” he scoffs. “And he doesn’t even keep up with them!”

“Well, working for the circus, he _is_ a bit detached from the ballet world,” Blake reminds him, stepping into her jeans.

“Then he has no idea what he’s talking about.” His arms are folded by the time Blake turns around. His blue eyes slide down Blake’s body, like he’s trying to picture the view he was just denied. “What does _he_ know about ballet?”

Blake distinctly remembers Dr. Ozpin telling them that he’d once trained in ballet, but she holds her tongue. 

Adam waves a hand in frustrated dismissal. “Fuck him,” he says, sounding like he’s reassuring himself more than actual speaking to Blake. “I don’t know why Sienna wants to collaborate with a stupid fucking _circus_ of all things.”

“She thinks it’ll teach everyone something new,” Blake reminds him, stepping back toward her vanity. She picks up the vase with the sunflower; of all the flowers she’s received, this is the only one she doesn’t want to lose. “She thinks it’ll--”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “I know what _she_ thinks. But she doesn’t work with the dancers anymore. She doesn’t know what _I_ know. Teaming up with that man-- in any capacity-- is idiocy.”

He stands up, letting out a long, dramatic sigh. He comes around to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. Blake clutches the neck of the vase so tightly her knuckles turn white.

“But I believe in you, my darling,” he croons into her ear. “Even among all those flashy circus lights… I know you’ll outshine them all. You’ll own those circus freaks on their own stage.”

Blake just stares at their reflection in the mirror, her eyes fixed on the yellow petals of the sunflower.

She doesn’t want to _own_ the circus freaks. She doesn’t want to outshine anyone. But she remembers Dr. Ozpin’s cryptic words from her last lesson with Yang; they’ve been hanging in the back of her mind, teasing her.

Blake has no desire to _steal_ the spotlight from Yang or the rest of the circus… but maybe there _would_ be room for her on that stage.

\--

Her next lesson with Yang can’t come soon enough.

Blake hopes it’ll give her some answers; is this truly a risk she wants to take? Does she really think she’ll become so good at it that she _could_ dance with Yang? She’s only had one real lesson on the silks; is she really willing to throw her career away on a _hunch_ that she’ll enjoy it?

But the apartment she shares with Adam is increasingly claustrophobic now that the season is over. She can’t escape his eyes, his touch, his constant plans for their future. She forgets how to speak when he’s around, forgets how to even think her own thoughts. He’s always in her head, not even needing to be in her presence to sink his poison into her mind.

The ballet was her dream, once, but it’s a dream that’s been tampered with and broken. They’re Adam’s dreams now, so enmeshed with her own that she hardly knows what her dreams used to look like, or even what they are now.

Maybe it’s time for a new dream.

Yang meets Blake at the side door, leaning against it to hold it open. Her smile is immediate when she sees Blake, and it’s already so familiar and eager that it sets Blake’s heart at ease almost immediately.

“Hey, Blake,” she says cheerfully, giving her a wave. Blake can feel heat start to settle in her cheeks, and feels ridiculous. Yang hasn’t done _anything_ to make Blake blush… yet.

“Hey,” she says, stopping in front of her.

There’s an awkward pause, and Yang shifts slightly, like she’s considering stepping forward to meet her, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. Blake wonders-- hopes-- that they’ll hug, like they did the night of the show. But maybe they’d just been more spontaneous that night, or maybe it had to do with the adrenaline rush of the show, because now, all Blake can manage to do is to look her in the eyes and give Yang a stupid smile.

They both let out a small huff of laughter, Blake trying not to wince out how nervous-sounding hers came out. 

“Shall we?” Yang asks, jutting her head inside. Blake nods, smiling, hoping it doesn’t sound too disappointed.

“Yeah.”

The studio is the same as before, though the stretches they do are different. This time, Yang walks her through warming up on the silks, showing how to hold onto them and how to lean in order to get the best stretch. It’s a method she’s never considered before, but it makes sense. Much like a ballet dancer warms up at the barre, it’s only fair that aerial dancers warm up on the silks. Yang’s arms stretch long, and Blake lets herself watch for two whole seconds before following suit.

It feels good to be back on the silks again. This time, she focuses more on technique, practicing her climb and trying to feel for its rhythm a little more as she rises into the air. Below her, Yang nods enthusiastically.

“Good! Now slide down and do it again.”

It’s like being a real student again. Blake smiles, her face flushed as her bare feet land on the mat. As a kid, she’d always been driven by the desire to impress her instructors. Now she wants to impress _Yang_ \-- but this is more than test scores and the best role in a dance.

She just wants to show her that she’s got what it takes to be a _partner_.

“You’re looking good,” Yang says encouragingly while Blake hangs upside down, her legs in a straddle. “You’ve got great control there. Then again, I’m not surprised, after seeing the way you danced the other night.”

“Yeah?” Blake asks breathlessly. She reaches up between her legs to grab the silks, pulling herself upright. Yang laughs.

“Yeah,” Yang says, watching Blake settle back on the mat. “I meant what I said. You were incredible out there.”

“Well… thank you.” Facing Yang, Blake knots her hand in the silks and shakes her head slowly. “I just wish you could’ve been there for literally any other show.”

“How come?”

“It just… wasn’t my best.” She sighs. “I usually have a different partner. So it kind of… threw me off a little.”

“I was wondering about your partner,” Yang admits, wincing. “I’ve seen the show before-- not with the White Fang, but other groups-- and I was actually talking with Ozpin about it. He kind of, like… made the atmosphere all wrong. You know what I mean?”

“I do,” Blake replies, shoulders sagging with relief. It _wasn’t_ just her who’d thought that. “The way he played Ozma… It wasn’t _right_.”

“It was out of character,” Yang agrees. “Like… just the way he was dancing with you! That’s not how that role is meant to be played.” She frowns, and shakes her head.. “I mean, no offense to him… but it looked like he was almost trying to use you like a puppet. Like he was trying to control your movement. And I might just be overly critical, but…” She raises her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “The dynamic between you just didn’t feel right to me.”

“No, you’re right.” She lets go of the silks and makes a wide gesture with her arms. “It’s like he ruined the show.”

“He didn’t ruin it.” Yang takes another step forward, and she’s so _close_ that Blake swears she can feel the heat radiating off her.

“He _did_.” She doesn’t mean to snap, but all of her frustration with him threatens to break the surface, and she feels the need to justify a less-than-stellar performance. “He _insisted_ on doing the show that night, and it messed me up.”

“You may not have had good chemistry with him,” Yang says evenly. “But that _didn’t_ ruin the show. I guarantee it.”

When Yang reaches for her hand, Blake looks away. It doesn’t stop her from holding on, though, and when Yang squeezes it, Blake squeezes back.

“ _I_ thought you were perfect,” Yang adds. Blake looks up at her, surprised by the warmth in her voice. She’s not saying it in a teasing, or even a playful kind of way. It’s _soft_ , just like the expression she’s giving Blake now. “Perfect, and beautiful.”

 _Beautiful_. There she is, using that word again, and it sounds just as nice to hear this time around as last time. It’s like a jolt right to the heart, and Blake almost forgets to breathe. Yang ducks her head, her face only inches from Blake’s, and--

“I’m inclined to agree.”

Yang and Blake leap back from each other, hands guiltily flying apart, and the deep voice is like a different, more unpleasant shock to the system.

But it’s only Dr. Ozpin, standing in the doorway of the studio. 

“Oh, hey, Oz,” Yang says, relaxing visibly. She stretches her arms, hands going behind her head. “We were talking about the show.”

“I heard.” He chuckles, which is a sound that probably _should_ be reassuring, but Blake can’t stop herself from putting her guard back up. “It _was_ a very good show. Your performance was exemplary.”

“I… thank you,” Blake replies, brows furrowing.

“I may not have agreed with all the choices Mr. Taurus made for the show,” he adds. “But I believe casting you as Princess Salem was his best one yet.”

Blake is speechless, and it’s only when Yang gives her an encouraging nudge that she even remembers to respond at all. “Oh… that’s… very kind of you to say.”

“Not at all. It’s well-deserved, Miss Belladonna.” He smiles, though even his smiles are unreadable. He inclines his head. “I came down here to wish you congratulations on a season well-done. This was your… seventh with the company, correct?”

“First as principal,” Blake says, nodding. “But yes.”

“So young, to be a principal,” he remarks. “It’s impressive.”

Impressive, yes. But there’s always that sense of shame, whenever anyone points out her age; as skilled as she was, this is the position Adam groomed her to be in, and maneuvered into. She lets it go, and only nods blandly.

“From what I saw, you’re a gift to the artistic world, and I’m looking forward to seeing what you do next,” he says, then gives her a nod. “But I’ll leave you to your lesson.”

“Later,” Yang says, giving him an absent wave as he turns to leave. Blake doesn’t know how to respond, only holding up a hand in a semi-wave as he leaves the studio.

She just stares for a moment, blinking.

She realizes she doesn’t _need_ to think anymore. She’d been stringing herself along since the last show, wavering… but in her heart, she’d already made her choice. Her heart starts to drum against her chest, but she quickly turns to Yang.

“Wait here a minute,” she tells Yang, holding up one finger as she heads briskly toward the door. Yang’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just… need a minute. Hold on.”

Without putting her shoes on, Blake runs out of the studio and into the hall, making a beeline for the stairs. She hears Yang’s confused questions behind her, but she doesn’t respond, too intent on finalizing this decision before she can back out.

“Wait!” she calls, practically tripping over herself to catch up. At the edge of the stairs, Dr. Ozpin comes to a halt, then turns back to look at her.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to ask you,” she says quickly, slightly out of breath when she stops just feet from him. Her heart is hammering, and not just from running.

“Ask me what, Miss Belladonna?” he asks mildly. She draws in an inhale.

“The other day…” She hesitates, still uncertain if he had been serious when he’d mentioned it. “You said a dancer like me… could do well here.”

Dr. Ozpin’s face betrays nothing. She thinks one silver eyebrow raises slightly, but she can’t be certain.

“I did,” he agrees. Blake swallows.

“Were you…” She pauses again. “Were you telling me I _could_ be here? If I wanted to be?”

Finally, the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

“Miss Belladonna,” he replies, his tone kind. “When I said that you’re always welcome here, I meant it. Either as a student… _or_ a performer, if that is what you wish.”

Blake feels the blood rush and burn in her ears. She’s made her choice-- it’s a choice she should’ve made long ago, before she even met Yang or Dr. Ozpin. She’d been caged in by fear, been taught to believe that there was nothing better for her than the White Fang Ballet. But she can see the doors of that cage open; she’d rather be in the circus than be a caged animal in a zoo.

She glances backwards and sees Yang standing outside the door of the studio, her head cocked quizzically. Blake feels a surge of strength. She nods.

“It is.”

\--

_I won’t lie to you, Miss Belladonna. A place in our ensemble isn’t nearly as lucrative or well-paying as a role in the White Fang Ballet._

Blake shoves clothes into her suitcase. She’s thought about this plan so many times, has gone so far to play out every minor detail in her head. A plan’s been laying dormant in her head and now, it’s time to put it to use.

She only packs the things she needs, the basics. She leaves behind the fancy cocktail dresses and jewelry; those were Adam’s, trinkets for the purpose of dressing up the ballerina on his arm. She doesn’t need those where she’s going, and she doesn’t want them.

_In many ways, this will be like starting at the bottom rung of the ladder you just finished climbing._

Blake doesn’t bring her phone; he’s told her before that he knows how to track it. Fortunately, she set herself up with a new phone plan before she even got home, putting it on her own credit card instead of Adam’s. 

It’ll be tricky, not having access to the bank account she shares with Adam, but she’s withdrawn as much cash as she can. She’ll need it to tide her over until she has a day job again, and even then, she can imagine she’ll still burn through her credit card quickly. Even the cheapest hotels add up, but that’s what she’ll be stuck with for a while. But she can brace herself for that; whatever the cost, she’s willing to pay it.

_However, you’re free to continue your lessons with Yang, as well as learn from the other members of the show, should you so choose. Most of the performers here have skills in different disciplines, and it would be wise to vary your expertise a bit._

Blake is surprised by how little she really needs. Mostly clothes, only a couple irreplaceable books, some sentimental things. It all fits in a suitcase, a duffel bag, and a backpack.

Her whole life, packed into a few bags.

The last thing she takes is the sunflower. It’s still on her nightstand, already beginning to droop, petals wilting. She’ll hold onto it, and set it in her hotel room. But she’s got something better than a sunflower now; she’s got the whole world.

_Given your repertoire and career with the Fang, I’m certain you’ll easily find your place here._

Blake stops by the doorway. It’ll be a couple hours before Adam gets home, which will hopefully buy her enough time to cover her tracks. She wouldn’t put it past Adam to call the police and file a missing person’s report. She frowns, and pulls out a small stack of post-it notes and a pen. On the top, she scribbles a note.

I’m leaving the ballet. Don’t look for me.

Goodbye.

B

Her hand is shaking as she sets the pen down, but she still feels that strength. She needs it; it’s hard to juggle all of her things, but she manages to push her way out the door and close it behind her.

She doesn’t look back.


	4. Chapter 4

“Blake,” Sienna says, calmly. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

Sienna was never one to mince words, and Blake’s so used to it that she doesn’t even flinch from the language used.

“My decision is final,” Blake replies, matching that calmness in her voice even when her heart is pounding. “And maybe it _is_ crazy. But I’m not going to renew.”

Sienna stares at her, her golden eyes still round with incredulity. She drums her fingers on her desk, mulling it over.

“You _just made_ principal,” she says, her voice rising in volume slightly. “You’ve spent _years_ waiting for this. You’d be throwing away your whole _career_.”

“I know.” Blake takes a deep breath, hoping it’ll help her nerves. It doesn’t. “But I need to move on, Sienna. I _need_ to.”

She can tell Sienna still doesn’t believe it. If stares were daggers, Blake would be stabbed through a dozen times over. She narrows her eyes; seated as she is, Sienna is still looking _down_ at Blake.

“Does Adam know?” she asks at last. Blake’s blood runs cold, and she resists the urge to look over her shoulder. He isn’t here, she reminds herself. She knows his schedule, and knows he’s got a class right now. That guarantee was what made this one of the only times she could safely visit Sienna, to collect her last paycheck and terminate her contract with the company.

“Yes,” she says. She doesn’t elaborate, and one of Sienna’s ears rolls forward in suspicion. While Sienna doesn’t always get along with Adam, she does think highly of him, and had always seemed blind to his treatment of Blake. Of course she wants details.

Sienna’s used to being the predator, and Blake certainly _feels_ like prey. But she doesn’t back down from this stare; there’s too much at stake to falter now. So it’s a relief when Sienna breaks first, with a sigh and a shake of her head. She picks up the pen that she set beside Blake’s contract and spins it in her fingers.

“If I sign this,” she warns, “you’ll be out of the company for good. And, quite frankly, I’m not sure we’d accept you back in even if you auditioned. You know how competitive this field is, and breaking your contract like this--”

“I know,” Blake says. She looks down at her contract dully. It had been something she’d dreamed of, and holding that contract in her hands had been a triumphant moment for her. But it had been a moment that Adam’s shadow loomed over. His touch had been all over that contract, his fingers dirtying the pages. She shakes her head. “But I can’t stay.”

With a hard look, Sienna uncaps her pen. She signs the papers without ceremony or flourish, then pushes them to Blake, who can’t sign it fast enough.

“Well, it’s unfortunate that you’re leaving us,” Sienna comments, though she doesn’t sound too saddened. Blake can even understand why: she’s just a dancer, and in a city full of dancers, she’s easily replaceable. Even a principal dancer such as herself can fade into obscurity under the wave of young, fresh faces.

“Yeah,” Blake replies, unsure if there’s anything else to say. She waits in silence as Sienna pulls out an envelope from her desk drawer. Inside is Blake’s last paycheck, which Adam had not yet claimed. Blake breathes a sigh of relief when Sienna hands it to her, shoving it into her bag quickly, like a part of her expected Sienna to snatch it back.

“I take it you cleared out your things already?” Sienna asks impassively as Blake rises from her seat.

“Yeah,” Blake says again, moving toward the door. Sienna doesn’t get up to walk her there; she’s done with Blake already, had dismissed her the minute she signed those papers. But Blake pauses, and turns back, fingers still on the doorknob. “Sienna?”

“Yes?” she asks, not looking up from whatever new paperwork she’s shuffling through. Blake hesitates again, not sure if she’d be overstepping to say it.

“If… Adam starts getting friendly with any new dancers…” she says haltingly. Sienna looks up, a dark eyebrow raised. “Maybe just… keep an eye out? On the dancers?”

Sienna blinks, and for a moment, Blake is afraid that she _did_ say the wrong thing. But then Sienna’s face, oddly, _softens_ , an expression Blake had previously thought foreign to her.

“Was it true, then?” she asks slowly, regretfully. “How he treated you?”

Blake’s cheeks feel like they’re on fire. She opens her mouth to reply, then shuts it. Slowly, Sienna nods.

“Very well,” she says, sounding more gentle than angry; it's disconcerting to hear such a tone coming from Sienna. “I’ll watch out for the dancers.”

There’s an odd knot in Blake’s throat when she nods. She doesn’t know why she’s only feeling something _now_ \-- she would’ve thought she’d feel it as she told Sienna she was leaving, or the moment she signed the contract. But it’s only now, when Sienna’s looking at her with that strange sympathy, that Blake finally feels the weight of what she’s done.

With a last nod, she pushes her way out the door. She’ll have to leave quickly, to make sure she avoids Adam. It would be disastrous if he caught her here.

She _should_ be feeling grief, she thinks as she steps through the glass double-doors of the entrance. She may never step into this building again. Her long sought-after dream, now forever out of her reach. She _should_ be sad.

Instead, all she feels is relief.

\--

Blake shivers slightly as she plops onto the cheap motel bed, her wet hair pulled into a towel. Her temporary bedroom refuses to get very warm, no matter what she does to the thermostat, but that’s not what makes her shiver. She unlocks her new phone, swiping down her contacts to Yang’s name.

Yang doesn’t know yet. After Blake’s quick conversation with Dr. Ozpin, she had hurried back to the studio for her lesson, intending to tell her everything. When Yang had asked, however, Blake found she _couldn’t_ explain. She just couldn’t make herself say what she’d done; how that, in a matter of moments, she’d decided to quit the ballet and join up with the circus. 

She’d _frozen_ at the question, and the potential fallout of the decision she’d made.

Blake knew that Yang would think her crazy for what she’d done. Borderline insane, even, and she hadn’t wanted to taint that lesson with her own insanity. So instead of elaborating, she’d given Yang a half-assed, bullshit excuse as to why she’d run after Dr. Ozpin like that. She could tell that Yang had been unconvinced, but was relieved she hadn't pushed for details. That's one of the reasons she likes Yang, she supposes; she doesn't push when someone's uncomfortable.

But tomorrow would be Blake’s first day actually _rehearsing_ with the circus. She can’t avoid the topic anymore, and she’d rather Yang hear it from her than secondhand.

Taking a deep breath, Blake presses the call button.

“ _Hello?_ ” 

God, hearing Yang’s voice is so soothing. Over the past few days, Blake’s been frazzled by her escape, stressed and strung-out as she tries to start her life over, as she’s lined up a post office box and a bank account and a new waitressing job. But hearing Yang now is a balm, and Blake’s next breath is a little bit easier.

“ _Blake?_ ” Yang asks, a little more concerned at the hesitation.

“Yeah,” Blake replies quickly, laughing nervously. “Hey.”

“ _Oh, there you are._ ” Yang responds with a laugh of her own. “ _Must’ve had bad reception or something._ ”

“Sorry about that,” Blake says, smiling as she pulls her hair free of its towel, letting it fall damply to her shoulders. “How are you?”

“ _Oh, I’m good!_ ” There’s an odd clanging noise in the background, the sound of metal on metal. “ _Just making dinner. What about you? I don’t think you’ve actually ever called me before._ ”

“Yeah,” Blake says, grimacing. “Sorry.”

“ _Don’t apologize. It’s good to hear your voice,_ ” Yang says cheerfully. Something bangs in the background again, and Blake wonders what exactly she’s making that requires so many pots or pans. “ _What’s up?_ ”

“Do you… have a minute?” Blake asks, somewhat awkwardly, sliding underneath the flimsy motel blanket.

“ _Yeah. You okay?_ ”

Yang’s voice slides so seamlessly into seriousness and worry that it gives Blake pause. She swallows hard. Is she really that transparent?

“Of course,” she says hastily. “I’m fine. I just… wanted to talk to you about something.” She pauses, then adds, “And it’s really not a big thing. But I didn’t want it to catch you off-guard, or whatever.”

“ _What is it?_ ” Yang asks, sounding truly curious now. After another brief hesitation, Blake decides to just rip the bandaid off.

“I’m joining the circus,” she blurts out.

There was a pause.

“ _You… what?_ ”

Blake cringes automatically, and her heart falls at the unpromising confusion in Yang’s voice. She braces herself before continuing. “I’m… joining you guys. At the circus.”

“ _You’re… hold on. Ruby,_ low heat _!_ ” There’s a vague sound of whining in the background, and then a shuffling. Blake sits completely still as she gets a sense of Yang on the move, the noises of the kitchen becoming muted as she hurries away. “ _Shit, sorry! Did you just say you’re joining the circus?_ ”

“Yeah.” Now that the shock of actually _saying_ it has worn off, Blake manages to find her balance. “I talked with Dr. Ozpin about it the other day. He offered me a place in the ensemble, and I accepted.”

“ _You’re_ actually _joining?!_ ” Yang says, her confusion now tinged with shock. “ _Like, for real?_ ”

“Yeah, for real.” There’s a stunned pause, and Blake feels a flash of regret-- maybe she’d made the wrong choice, or maybe Yang _won’t_ want to work with her, or maybe she was an idiot for thinking she was ready for the circus at all. Suddenly needing to justify her decision, she hastily adds, “Dr. Ozpin had said something about how he’d like to have someone with my skills in the show, and I thought he was joking, but when I asked, and he was serious--”

“ _Wait… what about the White Fang?_ ” Yang asks, cutting the ramble off.

“I quit,” Blake replies. There’s a sharpness to her words that she doesn’t mean (or maybe she does), and she winces and tries to soften the blow. “It’s just… not… It’s not exactly the… the best place for me, anymore. You know what I mean?”

“ _I get it_ ,” Yang says, a calming lilt in her voice. She pauses, then asks, “ _Are you okay?_ ”

“Yeah,” Blake replies quickly-- _too_ quickly. “Of course I am.”

“ _It’s a pretty sudden change. I just want to make sure you’re, like… doing okay with it._ ”

“Oh.” Blake’s breath catches, and for a moment, _considers_ it. She _considers_ telling Yang that no, things aren’t _completely_ all right, that she’s living in a hotel room, that she had to escape the life she’d been living before, that she doesn’t know what her future will bring… but no. Yang’s nothing more than a teacher to her. A teacher that she _likes_ , nonetheless, but still, there are boundaries she needs to hold onto. “Thanks, but… I’m good.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Yang says in a tone that’s too soft to be anything but deliberate. Maybe she can sense the trepidation in Blake’s words, and Blake is already kicking herself mentally for sounding weak. “ _Just… if you ever need to, like, vent or something… just know I’m willing to listen. Okay?_ ”

Unexpectedly, Blake feels a prick behind her eyes, a hot sting. She’s not crying, but she can feel the tears there, waiting. She squeezes her eyes shut, holding them back. She’s not sure why Yang’s offer is making her react like this; maybe it’s the thought that Yang seems to inherently _know_ what Blake needs to hear, that she seems to just _know_ that Blake’s thoughts are spiraling.

It’s like Yang is reaching out a hand, and Blake is surprised by her own longing to take it.

“Thanks,” Blake replies quietly. She waits, not knowing what to say next. Yang doesn’t break the silence, letting her think it over. “But I’m good. It’ll just be an adjustment, I think. But Dr. Ozpin thinks I’ll be fine. That I’ll do well.”

“ _And he’s a pretty good judge of people,_ ” Yang says, her tone lighter. “ _If he was willing to just recruit you off the street, that means he’s got high hopes for you._ ”

“I hope I don’t let him down, then,” Blake says with a chuckle. Yang’s snort is audible through the phone.

“ _Are you kidding? After seeing you in your show that night-- and seeing how well you’re taking to the silks-- you’ll shine in no time at all. I mean…_ ” Yang’s voice trails off, and her laugh almost sounds nervous. “ _You already do._ ”

“You flatter me,” Blake says, though she has to bite her lip to keep a grin from spreading.

“ _Well, it’s true!_ ” Yang replies, doubling down. “ _Really. Like… if you could see yourself the way I do… you’d get it._ ”

Blake’s face burns, blood racing to her face. But it’s a good burn; she’s reached out and embraced that sun, and even though it burns, there’s something inherently comforting about that heat. It’s certainly better than the cold she knows too well.

“ _Anyway,_ ” Yang says, pushing through the brief silence before it turns too awkward. “ _I gotta finish helping Ruby with dinner. But… I’m so excited to work with you, Blake. I’m glad you’re joining us and…_ ” Yang pauses again. “ _I really hope you’ll be happier with us._ ”

“I hope so, too,” Blake replies softly. Something flutters in her stomach. “Thanks, Yang. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“ _I’ll make sure of it._ ”

“Good.” Blake smiles. “I’ll see you then.”

“ _Yeah_.”

There’s more to say, and Blake can feel it. Yang must feel it, too, for while there’s silence on the other end of the line, neither of them hang up. Blake wracks her brain, trying to come up with something-- anything-- to keep her on the phone and prolong the conversation. But all she manages to do is open her mouth, voice cracking and silencing her before she can form a word. She wonders if Yang is doing the same.

“ _All right_ ,” Yang finally says, and Blake must be imagining the regret lacing her tone. “ _See you tomorrow, Blake_.”

“You too,” Blake replies faintly.

“ _Have a good night_.”

“You too.”

There’s another second of silence, and then the short beeps that indicate _call ended_. Only then does Blake set her phone down on her lap, staring at the generic home screen.

 _Tomorrow_.

She can wait till then.

\--

Turns out, Blake doesn’t have to wait long.

“So, how’d it go?” Yang asks, leaning against the wall outside of Dr. Ozpin’s office. Her arms are folded, and she looks utterly relaxed, her long hair hanging loose down her back. Blake smiles at her; Dr. Ozpin had apparently asked Yang to give her a tour of the facility, knowing that they were already well-acquainted.

“Well, I’m officially a probationary member of the SMC,” Blake replies, crossing her own arms to match Yang’s.

It all feels so casual, like they hadn’t just had a conversation the night before that bordered close to personal. There hadn’t been any dramatic, awkward greetings, either; they’re skipping all that, landing squarely in familiarity.

“Congratulations,” Yang says, grinning. “You’re officially a clown.”

“I am _not_!” Blake says, horrified. But then Yang starts laughing, so Blake elbows her. “Jerk.”

“Sorry. Circus humor.” Yang snorts, leading Blake away from the door. “We joke about clownery a lot, but Ozpin actually hates clowns, so he refuses to call anyone that.”

“Wait.” Blake comes to a halt. “The producer of a circus… hates clowns?”

“Yeah, I don’t get it, either. It’s kind of a running joke in the company. Sometimes, Ruby will hide little creepy clown dolls in his drawers or closet or something. Once, she even dressed _up_ like a clown and it scared the shit out of him! But yeah… it’s kind of funny.”

“It is,” Blake agrees, rolling her eyes. “But good to know.”

“Anyway. Shall we?” Yang asks, jutting her chin toward the long hallway. Blake nods, and lets Yang guide her away.

Even without the main arena, the SPAC would be a big place. The backstage area is massive-- much bigger than what she’s used to, taller and wider and longer. There are props, scenery, and assortments of odd items that Blake imagines are used for juggling and other circus tricks, from balls to knives to scarves to things she’s never seen before. None of the color here has been put away, or stuffed into boxes until the next show. The chaos of the stage, the colors and lights, is just as evident here as it had been when Blake had seen _Legends from Olympus_.

“And that’s the rig,” Yang tells her, pointing out the massive structure above them. “Where we perform our trapeze acts.”

Blake remembers it from her first lesson, when she’d seen Yang practicing. She gets a better look at it now, at all the wires, the ladders, the platforms. It’s a whole structure unto itself, and a lot more complex than Blake had first thought.

“You oughta give it a try sometime,” Yang says cheerfully.

“The trapeze?” Blake asks, shocked.

“Well, yeah! Since you’re officially one of us now… you’ll have to try some of the other disciplines. And aerial dancing often goes hand-in-hand with trapeze.”

“I didn’t sign on as an aerial dancer,” Blake says, correcting Yang. “I’m just a general dancer. Probably more ensemble-y stuff, he said.”

“Well, yeah. But you’re going to get good at aerial dancing, though,” Yang replies confidently. “Oz has great instincts, and he thinks you’ve got what it takes to be on the silks.”

“He does?”

“He does.” Yang faces her, tilting her head down in order to meet Blake’s eyes. “He watched our lessons a little bit, he knows your dance history, and, most of all, he trusts me when I say you’re taking to it well and that you have incredible potential.”

“You really think so?” Blake asks, disbelieving.

When Yang smiles, it’s full of a softness that feels so out of place beneath the bright lights. It tickles something deep within Blake, giving her a strange sensation of warmth.

“Yes,” Yang says, her tone gentle, but earnest. “I _do_.”

Yang’s words carry such a weight that Blake continues to feel them imprint into her head long after they leave the stage behind. It’s an imprint that scares her.

She can remember the imprint of empty promises Adam had made to her long ago. That she’d find glory in dance, that she’d become a world-class prima ballerina and be showered with fame and fortune. She would be the best, he swore. And she had believed that she _would_ be.

Yang might be no different, Blake tells herself. She could be doing the exact same thing Adam had done, grooming her to be a doll and a plaything.

She’s been stupid, she realizes, for not keeping her guard up.

Belatedly, she tries to build those walls back up as Yang continues to walk down the hallways, gesturing to different rooms and explaining their functions. She’s not sure if Yang even notices the way she’s suddenly cooled off, the safeguards she’s clicking into place. But Blake slows down her jokes, her smiles. She needs to take it slow.

Yang shows her the costume room, the workshop, different studios. There are a few people in one room, juggling lazily as they talk to each other. A red-haired girl in the back is tossing a small contraption on a string between two sticks, throwing it into the air and laughing at something another person says.

“What’s she doing?” Blake asked, curiosity overcoming her aloofness for a moment. Yang glances over.

“Oh, those are diabolos,” Yang explains cheerfully. “That’s another thing I could teach you, if you’d like.”

“Oh…” Blake says, frowning slightly as she thinks. She can’t seem too eager. “Sure.”

At this, Yang raises an eyebrow. “I mean, you don’t have to, if you don’t want.” She hesitates, and Blake feels a twinge of guilt for Yang’s uncertainty. “We could teach you juggling instead, or unicycling, or whatever. But it’s important to at least experiment across the different disciplines. Like, I do aerial dancing and trapeze work, and I can do a lot of other things. But I never stop learning! I’m learning to breathe fire now, actually.”

“You can breathe _fire_?” Blake asks, eyes widening, too shocked to maintain her weak facade. Yang grins.

“Well, I’m getting there. I could show you sometime! I mean...” She spreads her arms in an innocent shrug, though her smile betrays her. “You might even think it's _hot_.”

Just _thinking_ about Yang breathing fire sends goosebumps racing down her neck. She flushes, and, apparently sensing the effect her words have, Yang smirks.

“Then again, working with fire always tends to be,” she adds, then laughs at her own bad joke. Blake’s face feels like it’s on fire, too, continuing to burn even when Yang turns and walks her away from this particular studio.

 _Be careful_ , she reminds herself.

“And when we come around here… we’re at the greenroom!” Yang says, pushing open a door. “This is where--”

“ _There_ they are!” a bright, familiar voice whoops. Blake doesn’t recognize it at first, but she does recognize the woman who leaps off the couch and bounds over to them. “Yang _said_ she was gonna give you the grand tour! What would you rate her? Ten out of ten? Five stars? Two thumbs up?”

 _Ruby_. That’s the name of the other trapeze artist she’d met that first day. Yang's sister. She looks like she’s just come in from practice, her dark hair messy, whisps starting to fly free of her ponytail. She’s smiling widely, and gives Blake a nudge.

“You don’t need to tip her if she sucked,” she adds reasonably, to which Yang rolls her eyes.

“Still probably better than any tour _you_ would’ve given.”

“Probably,” Ruby agrees, not the least bit offended. “But we’re excited to have you here! Blake, right?”

“Yeah.” Blake sticks out her hand, lets Ruby shake it. “It’s good to meet you, again.”

“So _you’re_ the one from the White Fang,” a new voice says, heavy with disapproval. With Ruby’s quick greeting, Blake hadn’t even had time to look around the room to see if anyone else was there. But another woman was standing off to the side, much more poised and restrained than Ruby had been. Blake recognizes the white hair; this is the woman from _Legends from Olympus_ , the one who looked like she’d studied ballet before. She’d been on the tightrope, playing Artemis. “You were the one that just made principal, right?”

“How do _you_ know?” Blake asks, unsettled. She hadn’t thought she’d be _that_ recognizable. 

“Yang said you were with the company,” the woman replies, blue eyes flickering toward Yang. She’s got a scar over one eye, something Blake hadn’t been able to see under the showlights, and it makes her look even more severe. “I didn’t see anything in your bio about studying the circus arts, though.”

“It’s because I’ve never tried anything until recently,” Blake admits, her ears twitching with the urge to flatten. She resists the impulse. She’s not being interrogated, she tells herself, though the coldness of the woman’s eyes say otherwise.

“Weiss,” Yang says, exasperated. “Whatever happened to _nice to meet you_?”

“Oh, sorry,” the woman-- Weiss-- says, though she doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I’m Weiss. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Blake says, still suspicious. She feels like Weiss isn’t done with her, and she’s right; a few seconds later, Weiss continues.

“I just think it’s _interesting--_ ”

Ruby groans, and Yang slaps a hand to her forehead.

“--that Ozpin would just… let you in, no audition needed. When you’ve had _no_ experience with any of the circus disciplines.”

“Well, she _was_ a principal dancer with a professional ballet company,” Ruby reminds her.

“Just because she was a ballerina doesn’t mean she can just become an acrobat,” Weiss says, only sparing Ruby a quick look before fixing her icy stare back on Blake. “No offense, but it seems pretty irresponsible of Ozpin to just hire you with no audition, and no questions asked, especially when we get hundreds of applicants each year who are more qualified.”

Blake tenses, and Yang’s eyes seem to darken, looking almost red.

“And I’m not saying you’re bad, Blake,” Weiss makes sure to add. “It just seems odd to me. I mean, the White Fang wouldn’t hire just _anyone_ without an audition, would they?”

“Well…” Blake says uncomfortably, but Yang interrupts.

“Ozpin’s seen her perform,” she tells Weiss, voice steely. “He knows what she can do. And you _know_ his instincts have never been wrong before.”

Weiss’s jaw clenches, and Ruby casts a worried look between her and her sister. Hot shame curls in Blake’s stomach, unraveling until she can feel it all the way down to her toes. Rather than wallow in it, however, Blake tightens in on herself, fortifying. It feels a lot better to hold onto anger than guilt, so she lets that anger smolder.

“I’m a quick learner,” she says, just as cold as Weiss had been, trying to channel every ounce of dancer arrogance she has. “I was the youngest person in the history of the White Fang to make principal. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Then why the downgrade?” Weiss challenges, and there’s true curiosity in the question. As someone who had clearly been in the ballet before, maybe the curiosity is valid. Why _would_ someone like Blake walk away from such a prestigious career? “You’re basically back to being in an ensemble, when you were literally at the top of the totem pole. You gave all that up… for this?”

Shame overtakes the anger again, and Blake’s whole body is so tense that she can already feel the cracks, ready to shatter.

There’s gentle pressure on her back, and automatically, a few of her muscles loosen. She looks up and sees Yang beside her, keeping a hand on the small of Blake's back in a show of solidarity. It startles her, at how much comfort she finds in the contact.

“Everyone has their reasons, Weiss,” Yang says levelly. “You more than anyone should know that, yeah?”

Weiss lets out a huff, finally looking away. “I was just _wondering_.”

“Well, since she’s with us now, we’ll have plenty of chances to learn all her secrets!” Ruby announces playfully, giving Blake a wink. “So whatever your reasons are, I’m glad you’re with us!”

“Thanks,” Blake says, her mouth dry. Inch by inch, her muscles are continuing to let go. Yang’s thumb strokes her back, and it’s hard to not sink into it. “I’m… glad to be here.”

“And we can introduce you to everyone, too!” Ruby goes on excitedly, not even seeming to notice the chill in the air. “I don’t think many people know we've got a new member. But if there’s anything you wanna learn, you can always hit us up! Do you have any ideas, about what you want to try first?”

“Well… aerial dancing, for sure,” Blake says, still constantly aware of Yang’s touch; her hand hasn't left her back. “And… I should probably learn how to juggle, right?”

“You don’t _have_ to… but with all the balls and things we have around, you might as well! You can even take some home to practice, if you like.”

“I might do that, then.” Blake smiles weakly at Ruby, who beams back.

Weiss, who’s gone silent as Ruby chatters on, only nods in agreement, though she continues to watch Blake, like she might find the answers to all her questions by memorizing Blake's every detail. It’s deeply uncomfortable, but Blake refuses to speak further on the subject. She’s allowed privacy, she has to remind herself. It's a luxury she's been too long without, and she won't let a stranger pry it away.

“We gotta go, but we’ll see you at practice later, right?” Ruby asks, jamming her hands in her pockets. Blake gives a short nod.

“Yeah.”

“Great! Then we’ll see you there. You joined at just the right time!”

“Rehearsals start this week for our next show,” Yang explains, finally drawing her hand away, and already, Blake misses its warmth. “So it’s literally the best time to figure out what you’ll do, and give you plenty of time to get used to things.”

“Sounds good,” Blake says, trying to put a little more friendliness in her tone. “Looking forward to it.”

“See you up there,” Weiss says, turning on her heel. Ruby trots after her, giving Blake a cheerful wave and a grin before shutting the door behind them.

Leaving her alone, once again, with Yang.

Yang lets out a long sigh, leaning against the round table in the center of the room. “Sorry about Weiss,” she says. “She’s a bit… uh…”

“Bitchy?” Blake asks dryly. Yang lets out a huff.

“Not always… but yeah, that wasn’t the best first impression, was it?”

“No,” Blake agrees. The forced smile she’d given Ruby is long gone, though she’s trying not to let Weiss’s words sink in too deeply. _Hundreds of applicants each year_. Blake hadn’t realized the competition had been so intense. If that was the case… how _had_ she been allowed to join?

Unconsciously, Blake folds her arms tight across her chest. Yang studies her, eyes softening.

“You all right?”

“What?”

Yang nods at the door. “After that. Was that…?” She pauses, searching for something to say and apparently not finding it, for she frowns.

“It’s… fine,” Blake says, her ears finally giving in and flattening like they’d wanted to do all along. It’s _not_ fine, she knows. Doubt consumes her, making her question her decisions. Leaving the ballet, leaving Adam, joining a circus that she apparently doesn’t even qualify for. Just _what_ is she doing here?

But none of this is anything she can give Yang. She needs to be careful, and hold herself back, lest she dive right back down into trouble again. She holds herself tighter, and looks around the room in order to feign coolness.

Blake feels the beat of music reverberating through the walls, the floor. It’s better than the pure silence they would’ve been stuck in right now, but it’s still too quiet. Blake’s ears still ring with it, with Yang’s lack of response, with Weiss’s words that still echo.

At last, Yang speaks.

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” she says. Blake’s eyes snap away from the walls and back to her; Yang straightens, taking a step toward Blake. “Not to Weiss, or Ruby, or me, or even Ozpin. No explanations, no justifications. You’re here. And if it can make you happy, or fulfilled, or whatever… that’ll be enough.” Yang smiles at her. “So if they try to get nosy… just remember that, okay? That you don’t owe them _anything_.”

Her words are so firm, so _certain_ , that for an instant, Blake questions why she ever thought otherwise. Yang has to be right. Blake is her own person; wasn’t that why she’d left Adam in the first place? She didn’t owe him _shit_ , so she certainly didn’t owe anything to any of these strangers at the circus.

But guilt always has its way of weaseling its way back into her heart. She’s not deserving of a place here; her sole experience with the circus has been through two aerial dancing lessons and a show that left her blinded by hope. But when that hope faded… where would it leave her? There were other people out there who actually had dedicated their lives for this; Blake was a sham compared to them.

She bites her lip.

“Do… that many people really audition for this?” is the only question Blake decides is safe to ask. Yang raises an eyebrow.

“What? Oh.” One corner of Yang’s mouth quirks up sheepishly. “Actually… it's probably even more than that.”

“Jesus,” Blake says, frowning. “I… had no idea. That this was such a popular thing.”

“I think it surprises a lot of people who aren’t really in the trade,” Yang agrees. “But yeah. It’s not really much different, actually, than dance, or theater, or the other arts. It’s a hard career to break into. Even Weiss didn’t get in on her first audition, and she already had a pretty strong base.”

“Shit. No wonder she’s pissed,” Blake says, grimacing.

“Pissed? Weiss? Nah.” Yang waves her arm, then pushes off the table, coming to stand before Blake. “She’s judgey of _all_ newcomers. You should’ve seen the way she treated Jaune at first.” Yang chuckles a little, apparently recalling a funny memory. “But she’s gotten a lot better. I think, at most, she’s just… wary. Concerned. Probably a little jealous. But not _pissed_.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Blake mutters, looking down.

“Hey,” Yang replies. She reaches out a hand, hesitates, then touches Blake’s arm. Blake looks back up. “Don’t start feeling bad about it. I _meant_ what I said, both to you and to Weiss. Oz knows what he’s doing. Like, you wouldn’t believe how good his instincts are. He just seems to _know_ who’ll be successful here, and who’ll work out. So if he saw something in you… that means something. Plus…” Yang squeezes Blake’s arm slightly. “I don’t make a habit of being wrong, either.”

Blake shakes her head once, and smiles weakly. As encouraging as Yang’s words are meant to be, she still feels a sliver of uncertainty. But Yang is still smiling at her so gently, that Blake’s own internal warnings are overwhelmed by it; it makes her give into a moment of weakness.

“What if this was a mistake?” she asks quietly. “Quitting the ballet, and joining here… Maybe I rushed this. Maybe I should’ve thought it over more, or at least taken a few more lessons before doing this.”

Her voice gets higher with every word, her breathing growing quicker. A look of concern grows on Yang’s face. “Do _you_ think it was a mistake?”

“No,” Blake says, almost without thinking. She sighs. “I mean… _leaving_ was the right decision. And… so was joining here. It’s just… overwhelming. So much change.”

“I get that,” Yang replies, just as soft as ever, running her thumb back and forth against Blake’s arm. “Don’t trick yourself into regretting it. Your instincts led you here, right? So let yourself trust them.”

Oddly enough, Yang’s words _do_ resonate with her; Blake even _believes_ in them. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, then nods.

A look crosses over Yang’s face, like she wants to say something else, but can’t. Instead, her hand slides up Blake’s arm, moving slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to.

 _Be careful_ , the mantra in Blake’s head repeats, but there’s something in the solidity of Yang’s presence, and just in being alone with her in the greenroom, that makes Blake _want_ to put her trust in her. When Yang’s hand presses against her back, urging her closer, Blake lets herself be pulled into Yang’s chest.

She closes her eyes, feeling Yang’s arms wrap around her as she nestles her face into her shoulder. Yang is so warm-- almost unnaturally so-- but it’s welcome to Blake, who hadn’t even realized she’s cold. So cold, in fact, that she’s shaking; then again, maybe it’s not the cold that’s making her shake. Yang doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. Feeling Blake’s trembling, she just holds her tighter.

Blake didn’t realize how badly she needed this, to be held. Over these tumultuous last few days, she’s done so much for herself: she’d left a man who hurt her, left behind the only career she knew, and since then, she’s been stuck trying to scramble together a new life. She’s so tired; but for once, being able to let go, to not be alone, to give herself into Yang’s arms… it’s a relief.

“Sorry,” Blake mumbles, her body still wracked by shivers.

“Why do you think you need to apologize?” Yang asks. There’s a certain steadiness in her voice; it grounds Blake, keeping her from diving too far.

“I…” Blake begins, but finds that she isn’t sure _why_ she apologized. Instead, she shakes her head. Yang’s hold tightens slightly. "I just… should be a little more put together, I guess."

"I don't think _any_ of us are really put-together, y'know," Yang replies warmly. Blake looks up at her, reassured by the sincerity of Yang’s smile. “The only place you’ll ever find anything _close_ to perfection is on the stage. Everything else… we can be as messy as we want to be. And we _are_.”

At those last words, a choked-sounding laugh bubble out of Blake’s throat. Yang’s own chuckle reverberates through her body, a pleasant sensation when she’s enveloped in her arms. She forces herself to relax, to let herself hold onto the guilty enjoyment of the moment.

“You’re messy, huh?” she asks, and Yang grins wickedly.

“Probably not the messi _est_ , but I’m pretty high up there.” She pauses. “I meant what I said last night. If you ever need to talk or anything… I’ll always listen.”

“Thanks,” Blake replies faintly. Yang’s offer today feels, somehow, even kinder than it had the night before. _Too_ kind, almost, and Blake’s response feels unmatched. So she quickly adds, “And you can, too. If you ever need it… you can talk to me, too.”

Her offer still feels hollow, but Yang’s smile is bright, like Blake’s actually given her something substantial.

“Thank you,” is all Yang says, and it’s not sarcastic. It’s not patronizing. It sounds… _genuine_.

It’s with reluctance that they separate, Blake stepping back and automatically tucking a long strand of black hair behind an ear as she looks away. She can still feel Yang’s eyes on her, and all Blake wants to do is look back up at her.

She needs to be careful, she reminds herself. She can’t let herself give in completely; she has to keep _some_ of her walls up.

“Well… shall we finish the tour?” Yang asks, setting a hand on her hip. Blake finally looks back up, at her wide smile and gentle eyes, and nods.

“Yeah,” she says, letting Yang lead the way out of the greenroom.

She _can_ be careful, she thinks, watching the bob of Yang’s ponytail in front of her. But… maybe, her protective wall doesn’t have to cut her off completely. 

Maybe her wall can have a door.


	5. Chapter 5

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight_.

The whole ensemble is on the stage at eight AM, arranged in three concentric circles. Blake is in the middle one; as a newbie, she doesn’t get to be in the spotlight, which she’s come to expect. She’s a nobody in the circus, back to being on the bottom rung of the performance ladder. She’s here to blend in, and that’s exactly what she’ll do.

_Grá Síoraí_ is what Dr. Ozpin had told them the show would be called. It didn’t have an actual plot in the way that most shows did; shows at the Shattered Moon Circus were more a collection of acts, all following a particular theme. The theme holding this particular show together would be the idea of love, the different ways it could be represented, and feelings it could evoke.

And it all starts with this group number, Dr. Ozpin silently watching on from his box.

Blake doesn’t yet know everyone by name. Weiss and Ruby are in the outermost circle, chatting as they stretch. Weiss wears her white hair pulled into a tight bun, and she hasn’t even given Blake a second glance, even after Ruby made sure to give her a cheerful wave. Despite what Yang had said about Weiss not being pissed, she can’t help but feel that that assessment was wrong.

Yang is in the innermost circle; she’ll be helping to lift another dancer into the air when the big group number is done. She looks good, wearing a purple tank top that matches her eyes, revealing enough skin that Blake sees the way her muscles flex as she stretches. She laughs at something her neighbor says, her shoulders shaking with it.

She pulls her hair into a messy bun, and as she does so, she swivels around lazily, in Blake’s general direction. Their eyes lock immediately, and she grins. Blake flushes.

“We’re just going to run through what you all learned yesterday,” the choreographer, a woman named Robyn, announces. She claps her hands together eagerly. “Now, let’s see how it all comes together.”

Music blasts from the speakers, a quick song that Blake recognizes from the afternoon before. 

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight_.

They all move as one. The middle circle moves in an opposite direction to the surrounding circles, and Robyn assures them that the overall effect will dazzle the audience, especially when they’re under the lights and in costume.

For now, though, it feels messy. They’re all feeling out the rhythm and direction, the way their steps round the stage. Blake’s own steps are too wide, and she nearly rams into her neighbor.

“Sorry!” she says quickly, shuffling back while not falling too far out of the dance.

“It’s okay!” the redhead says, her laugh a little too loud. “My steps were off.”

“Penny, no talking!” Robyn barks, and Blake’s neighbor winces.

“I’m sorry, ma’am!” the redhead-- Penny-- calls back. She lets out a small giggle, clearly not too concerned, and resumes the dance, following along in the circle.

Blake rises onto her toes, everyone coming to a halt as they raise their arms as one. By coincidence, she stops directly across from Yang, their arms reaching out toward each other.

Their eyes are locked once more, and Yang’s grin is wide. Their fingers brush, and it’s enough to make Blake nearly lose her balance, enough to make her lose track of the music.

There’s a different kind of music in Blake’s head when she looks into those eyes, and all she wants to do is fall into it.

\--

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight._

Blake twists her ankle into the silks, pushing herself higher. She unravels it, holding onto the silks as she wraps them around her waist and thigh. She lets herself tip, going further and further until she’s completely upside down, dangling from the silks.

Music blares, but all Blake hears is Yang counting, the lowness of her voice; everything else is muted compared to her steady beat.

Blake flips herself back upward, her core working hard as she grabs onto the silks. She curls the fabric around her wrists, arms fully extended. She hangs there for a moment, looking down at Yang, who’s watching her and continuing to count. She can feel herself being watched, evaluated, studied.

Something inside Blake _burns_.

“You’re looking good up there,” Yang says, interrupting her counts. “Now drop.”

Blake waits a moment, heart racing. It’s stupid-- it’s all stupid-- how her heart can’t seem to control itself during these one-on-one sessions with Yang. It’s been a week now since she’s joined, and it just seems to be getting worse, this _attraction_ she feels. And considering that she has a lesson on the silks with Yang every day… that’s probably a bad thing.

Her drop is a short one; Yang wants her to start small, and work up the distance from there. Still, there’s a flop in Blake’s stomach as she uncrooks her leg. It loosens the fabric, and Blake is _falling_.

For about a whole second. She’s too secure to fall far, and with Yang spotting her from below, there was no danger here. Still… the _exhilaration_ of it catches Blake by surprise. She’s grinning widely as she pulls her limbs free and slides down the silks.

“You’re doing well,” Yang goes on as Blake lands on the mat. “And you’re learning fast! You probably won’t be able to get on the silks for the next show, but for the one after that… I think you might be able to.”

“Yeah?” Blake asks, grabbing her water bottle. Yang nods, watching her drink thoughtfully.

“It probably won’t be, like… _crazy_ stuff,” she says. “But it’s easy to impress an audience when you’re doing aerial work. Even with the basics.”

“And I can just perform the basics?”

“Well, you’ll also be a lot better by the time we start figuring out the choreography.”

“When do you start planning that?”

“Well, considering I’m the one in charge of aerial choreography… I can plan it out whenever. I'll probably get the story soon, so it’s just a matter of figuring out what I think you’re capable of.” At this, Yang’s eyebrows waggle. Blake laughs.

“And what do you _think_ I’ll be capable of?” she asks, partly challenging, but partly curious. Just what does Yang think she’ll manage to pull off by the time the next show comes around?

“Not quite sure yet!” Yang replies, shrugging. “But we’ll pull off something good, I’m sure.”

“We?” Blake’s heart skips a bit when Yang nods.

“Well, yeah. You were interested in performing together, right?”

“I-- yeah,” Blake stammers, a smile already beginning to grow. “You think I’ll be ready for that?”

“I think you might be! You’re making good progress, and considering we’ll be practicing like… a lot? Anything is possible. We’ll get you into performance shape in no time. If you still like aerial dancing enough to do it, anyway.”

“Of course I do!” Blake says with a laugh. “I wouldn’t be here so much if I didn’t enjoy myself.”

“So you’re not just here for my pretty face?” Yang asks, sounding so dramatically affronted that Blake has to laugh again.

“Honestly, with a face like yours, you’re lucky I come back at all.”

“Ouch.” Yang winces. “And here I thought you liked me.”

Blake bites her lip. Yang’s only saying it in a teasing way, but god, it's true: Blake _does_. She tries not to let it show; she rolls her eyes instead.

“As if,” she mutters, though Yang smirks. It’s hard to tell whether or not she believes in this flimsy act. Blake can’t even manage to convince herself.

\--

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight._

Blake swears she hears counting in her head as she bustles through life. Even outside the circus, she lives by those constant beats. They get her through her hectic waitressing shifts, she breathes through them as she watches her credit slowly begin to dwindle, she feels it in the beat of her heart as she goes to sleep each night. The counting is both encouragement and comfort, helping her go on when her mind starts to set into panic.

But this is what music has always been for Blake. There’s always an end to the measure, the final count of eight before starting anew. Breaking up her life into pieces, into beats and measures, helps her cope with the larger picture; it gives her mindset a new color, a new hue, making it easier to look into the future without being blinded by it.

Because the future _would_ be blinding. Blake’s constantly on the move from motel to hostel to Airbnb; one moment of indiscretion could alert Adam to her whereabouts, and she doesn’t want to get too comfortable or known anywhere. She lives out of her suitcase, never staying anywhere long enough to unpack it. She keeps her shades drawn, always ready to run at a moment’s notice.

She’s not sure how she’ll be able to find an affordable apartment at this point. Between her waitressing job and the circus, she’s still only barely able to afford the basics and keep her bills paid, let alone save for a deposit on an apartment. She knows her credit score is going to take a beating from the overuse of credit cards, but at this point, what else can she do?

Blake has to take life day by day, minute by minute, beat by beat.

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight._

Yang’s counting off in Blake’s head, and it’s the steadiest thing she knows.

\--

In the three weeks since she’s left the ballet, Blake has gotten more and more comfortable with life at the circus. She’s finally figured out how to navigate the Salem Performing Arts Center without getting lost, has memorized most peoples’ names, and, for the most part, she’s figured out their personalities. There’s less of an air of mystery to this atmosphere, and she’s pleased to discover it isn’t too different from ballet life.

Any fear Blake had of cliques, which are so common among performers, are dispelled when Yang always pulls her into her own groups. Most often, this means they spend time with Ruby (who excitedly tells her that they’re _going to be great friends!_ ) and Weiss (who still doesn’t talk to Blake any more than she necessarily has to), but Blake also gets to know dancers, trapeze artists, tightrope walkers, singers, and other performers whose roles Blake doesn’t even know _what_ to call.

Nothing here is ordinary, and it fascinates her.

“Trampolining is like… an actual thing?” Blake asks, baffled. She’s sitting with Weiss and Ruby on a bench in one of the larger studios, watching a woman named Nora bounce on a long trampoline. “For _performances_?”

“You laugh, but you should see what Nora does with it!” Ruby tells her, grinning. She looks goofy in a black sweatband, her hair popping up wildly, but it probably comes in handy for trapeze work.

“I thought the trampolines were just for practice.”

“Well, they are. Nora’s _practicing_ right now.” Ruby points in Nora’s direction. The redhead is in Yang’s core of friends, whose bubbly personality often comes out as fierce competitiveness with whoever she rehearses with. Right now, though, Nora practices alone, her limbs everywhere at once. “But… yeah. It’s something she’ll end up doing on stage, too. A few of them get going on a trampoline at once, and bounce around each other, and off the walls… it’s pretty cool to watch.”

They continue to watch Nora in silence, listening to the springs of the trampoline and the grunts she makes. She’s putting extra effort into showing off; she always knows when she has an audience, Ruby had told her. She glances back at them now and then with a maniacal gleam in her eye, adding extra sound effects and occasionally thrusting her fist into the air in a show of power.

“Would you say this counts as dancing?” Blake asks thoughtfully. Ruby shrugs.

“Sorta. I mean, Nora trained as a dancer,” Ruby says. “But she doesn’t do much regular dancing these days. Not by peoples’ usual definitions, anyway, but she’s good at pretty much anything.”

Weiss, who’d been silent this whole time, scoffs.

“ _Please_. She doesn’t put real effort to it half the time.”

“She saves it for the real shows!” Ruby points out. She pauses. “Or when she’s showing off for newcomers.” Both of them glance at Blake, who shakes her head in amusement.

“Can’t say I blame her,” Blake says amiably. “It’s always fun to show off.”

They watch for a moment more, listening to the springs of trampoline as Nora goes up and down, up and down. She looks back at them mid-bounce, and she lets out a cackle and waves to them. Weiss rolls her eyes.

“Speaking of showing off…” Ruby says, smile darkening into a shit-eating smirk. “Yang is probably gonna start soon, if you want to watch.”

Heat blooms in Blake’s cheeks. The look Ruby’s giving her is so unexpectedly smug that she has to blush; God, what does she _know_?

“Yeah, I’ve got nothing else going on right now,” Blake says as nonchalantly as she can. “That’s probably a good idea.”

Ruby snickers, and Weiss shoots them both a droll stare.

“What, have you not ogled at her enough today?” she asks dryly. Ruby, who’d started to take a sip from her water bottle, actually spits it out all over the floor. A couple other nearby performers shoot her disgusted looks, but Ruby doesn’t notice.

“ _Weiss_! That’s gross!”

“What? You started it.”

“ _Yeah_ , but I leave it at the implication! You just… take it to another level that I don’t even wanna _think_ about!”

As they bicker, Blake buries her face in her hands. “I’m not ogling _anyone_ ,” she insists, peeking out between her fingers, to which both of them fix her with a _look_.

“Uh-huh,” Ruby says, leaning back. “So you just _happen_ to watch as many of her rehearsals as you do for the fun of it, right?”

“It’s for my own education,” Blake replies defensively, ears going flat. “Yang _told_ me it’s a good idea to watch her technique and get an idea of what I should be doing.”

“Right… Yang _told_ you to,” Ruby teases, her smirk widening. “For _science_.”

“Seriously!” Blake says insistently. She gathers up her bag, preparing to go back upstairs to the main arena. “I’m learning a lot just by watching her.”

Ruby raises her hands in surrender. “True, true. She’s pretty good up there,” she says, her concession a peace offering. As much as she likes to tease, at least she isn’t cruel enough to beat the subject to death. “I bet she’ll turn you into a great aerial dancer yet! You’re already _insane_ when you’re on the ground, so I can just imagine how amazing you’ll look in the air!”

“Thanks,” Blake says, relieved at the change of subject. They leave the studio, Ruby and Weiss following her as she rounds the corner toward the stairs. “The dances we’ve been doing are different, but I think I’m adjusting well.”

“You are!” Ruby says. At the same time, though, Weiss shrugs.

“You’re doing okay.”

Ruby groans. “ _Weiss_ …”

“Well, considering!” Weiss amends. “That she’s been doing it one way her whole life and suddenly has to try a new style. She's getting there.”

“I did train in other styles,” Blake reminds her, feeling slightly defensive.

“But _ballet_ was always your thing. It influenced your form, and your whole identity as a dancer. It affects your dance, even when it isn’t ballet.”

“Like?” Blake presses, looking back at Weiss as they climb the stairs.

“You’re… stiff,” Weiss explains, and Ruby groans. Maybe this is a rant she’s heard before. “And too precise. While that might be perfect for a professional ballet company, it makes you stick out when you dance in the ensemble here.”

“Really?” Blake asked, surprised. She thought she’d been dancing well; was Weiss asking her to be less _good_?

“There are some dances that’ll call for precision like that, of course,” Weiss says. “But it’s always for a particular effect, and Robyn will let us know if that’s what she wants. But for the most part? You need to relax.”

“Funny how you’re saying that now,” Ruby remarks innocently. “I seem to remember Robyn told _you_ that when you first joined, Weiss!”

Weiss huffs. “Well… she was right. As much as I hated to admit it." A pause. "As much as I still do.”

At this, Blake smiles a little. It’s reassuring that this apparently isn’t just a her-problem; Weiss had been a ballerina originally, too. Now she was a master of the tightrope, and could utilize her ballet skills high in the air, giving her a personal flair to her performances. 

She’ll do that someday, too, she tells herself. Her ballet skills certainly won’t go to waste on the stage, but maybe she can use those skills on the silks.

When they reach the arena, Blake stops in her tracks.

She couldn’t have timed her arrival more perfectly. The cable holding the silks has been lowered enough that Blake can see the hook that holds it. Yang seizes the silks in her hands, eyes glinting as dramatic cello music plays. She holds onto them as the silks are pulled into the air, lifting Yang up like a doll.

When the silks reach the top, it makes Yang bounce slightly, but she uses it as momentum; she flips upside down, weaving the silks around her thigh and waist, tossing the ends of the fabric away from herself. It flows around her, billowing in the air as Yang pulls herself back up, moving so quickly that it’s hard to catch the exact ways she folds the fabric around herself and how she ties herself into it.

Too late does Blake realize her mouth has fallen open slightly. She closes it quickly, but Ruby is already snickering.

“Fine, maybe ogling _was_ the best word choice for this.”

“Shut up,” Blake grumbles, still not tearing her eyes away. Yang drops a few feet, the fabric uncoiling around her. “I’m not _ogling_.”

Ruby snorts, and even Weiss lets out a disbelieving grunt. High above them, Yang is twirling further into the silks, over her arms, her hips, her legs. Blake isn’t sure how Yang manages to do all of this in time with the music, but she _does_.

“Please tell me I wasn’t this ridiculous over Pyrrha,” Weiss says to Ruby.

“Nah,” Ruby replies, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “You were a _lot_ worse.”

The silks are lowered back to the ground, and Yang lands on her bare feet. She picks up a notebook she’s set on the stage, scribbles something, and then picks up her phone to put the music on pause.

Unable to resist, Blake pulls out her own phone and types a quick message.

_Looks good! ;)_

She watches first as Yang’s eyebrows rise, then as she looks up. She sees them all standing in the aisle, and grins. She looks back down to her phone, and Blake sees her swiping a reply. Her phone buzzes.

_thanks, babe. ;)_

Blake smiles, and she hears Ruby sigh.

“Never mind,” she mutters to Weiss. “ _This_ might be worse.”

\--

Blake had hoped that by the time she'd spent a month at the Shattered Moon Circus, her life would have calmed down slightly. But reality couldn’t have been further from the truth. She still runs back and forth between her waitressing job and the circus, barely spending any time in her hotel-room-of-the-week, let alone being able to go out with Yang and the others on the occasions they ask (which they always do, and always seem just as disappointed when she tells them she can’t). Her feet ache, her back hurts, and the stress about her finances and living situation only continue to climb.

And now, somehow, she’s standing on a platform, strapped to a harness and looking down at the net below.

“Remind me again why I’m doing this?” she asks breathlessly.

Yang laughs, and rubs Blake’s shoulder. “Uh, because you _asked_ to?”

She did have a point. Blake had spent the last weeks dabbling in different circus arts-- she was getting better at juggling and unicycling and diabolos, and was doing well with all the dances at rehearsal. But her curiosity about the trapeze had gotten the better of her, and she’d finally caved and asked Yang to teach her to fly.

“It’s not too late to back out,” Yang reminds her quietly. Blake lets out a deep breath, then shakes her head.

“I’m not going to back out,” she says, more for herself than for Yang.

It’s all carefully controlled. There’s a net right there to catch her if she falls (which Yang _wants_ her to do, if only to know what to expect), and she’s strapped with safety lines that will give her enough freedom to toss herself into the air and flip herself around the bar. It’s all perfectly safe, and despite the waivers she signed, there’s very little that could go wrong.

Still… she’s up _very_ high.

Yang’s holding the bar, and she pulls it a little bit closer, right into Blake’s reach. Blake takes a hold of it with one hand; her hands are coated with chalk to keep her hands dry, and the long bar is cool in her grip.

They had spent plenty of time practicing on the ground first, of course. Yang had shown Blake the proper positioning, how to keep her arms out just right while making that hop off the platform. There had been a low-hanging, stationary trapeze in one of the studios, as well, and Yang had walked her through how to move her legs and how to hang from her knees. Her hands had been firm on Blake’s hips, her shoulders, almost more thrilling than the lesson itself.

Well, she hopes she’d absorbed enough of that lesson now; ready or not, it was time to put them to practical use.

“You got it, Blake!” Ruby calls from below, waving an excited hand. “We’ll be right here!”

Ruby is here as backup, along with Weiss and another trapeze artist named Pyrrha. Pyrrha happens to be Weiss’s girlfriend, as well as the show’s usual Aphrodite. Although, in Blake's private opinion, nobody could outshine Yang in that role.

_Focus_ , Blake reminds herself, rolling the bar in her dusty hand. She definitely shouldn’t be thinking of the Aphrodite costume right now, and the woman she’d like to see wearing it.

Behind her, Yang grabs her safety belt and suddenly it all feels more real. Blake’s eyes widen, and feels Yang’s face as it brushes against her ponytail.

“You all set?” she asks softly into Blake's ear.

Blake nods.

“Lean forward.”

It’s a tall order, but slowly, Blake does so; she knows Yang won’t let go. She’s still got a firm hold of Blake’s belt, and Blake herself is still clutching the ladder and the bar for dear life. But having worked with Yang on the silks for over a month now, she knows what to expect from her. There will be no tricks, no premature pushing.

She won’t let Blake fall.

On the stage, Ruby is hollering words of encouragement, but it’s only Yang’s words she can focus on.

“Ready?” she says, taking a step back and raising her voice, still holding onto Blake’s belt. Blake braces herself. “ _Hep!_ ”

Blake jumps.

_One, two._

It’s like being on the monkey bars as a kid. She kicks her legs forward, swinging upward in a graceful arc. It’s not that different at all, she realizes, a smile spreading across her face. A little bit higher, sure… but she _does_ feel like a child again, swinging on the bar.

“Legs up!” Yang calls, and Blake belatedly remembers. She needs to stay with the rhythm.

_Three, four_.

Her stomach churns as she tips herself backward, forcing herself to count out the beats instead of thinking about how she’s upside-down in the air. She pulls up her legs in one decisive motion, curling them around the bar just as the trapeze swings back.

“Hands off!”

_Five, six_.

It’s much easier, she decides, to think in terms of rhythm, to not let herself think of anything except the beat. She lets her arms fall, swinging by her knees and stretching her arms out. If it wasn’t for that constant counting in her head, she isn’t sure she would’ve been able to work the nerve to let go of that bar. It’s the counting that spurs her on.

It’s the counting that holds her together.

_Seven, eight_.

“You’re doing great!” Yang says, and Blake cranes her head back to try to catch a glimpse of her face. “Now come back up!”

It’s nerve-wracking, curling herself again to reach for the bar. Her hands are shaking as she grabs hold of it again, and carefully lets her body unfurl so she’s finally rightside up.

“Yeah, Blake!” Ruby yells.

“You’re doing wonderfully!” Pyrrha adds.

But again, it's only Yang that Blake hears.

“Now let go!” she calls.

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven_ , Blake counts down. She sucks in an inhale, thinks _Eight_ , and releases the bar.

It’s not a long drop, but it’s still a frightening one. The net is sturdy, if a bit bouncy, and Blake feels like an oversized kid as she lands on her back, just like Yang taught her. She hears Ruby laugh, and Blake’s face is beet red as she crawls toward the others.

“You did it!” Ruby says, running over to her, reaching out a hand to help her to the end of the net, where she takes a seat, her legs dangling over the edge. “And you did so well for a first try!”

“And now that you know what to expect, next time will be much easier!” Yang adds. She’s hurrying down the ladder, her expression bright with a smile. “What do you think?”

“I think…” Blake takes a moment to catch her breath, though she can’t stop a smile of her own from growing. “That you’re all insane. But… I think I like the insanity.”

_I think I like_ you _,_ she wants to add, looking up at Yang, the intensity fueled by her adrenaline. But she keeps that thought to herself. 

“Well, it’s definitely insane here,” Weiss mutters, though the corners of her mouth are starting to twitch upwards. She’s not _completely_ cold, Blake thinks, not for the first time. Then again, it’s probably impossible for anyone to feel cold around Yang at all.

“Maybe Weiss can drag you up onto the tightrope next!” Ruby suggests, and Blake grimaces.

“That’ll probably have to wait for another day.”

“And we’re not done with this lesson yet! So hold your horses, Rubes,” Yang scolds gently. She offers a hand to Blake. “Need some help?”

“Uh, sure!” 

Yang’s hand on her waist is _electric_ , and Blake feels that adrenaline rush again as Yang helps her slide to the floor. The furious beating of her own heart makes her lose track of the rhythm in her head, but this is _better_. It’s a frenzied buzz in her chest, like the beating of a hummingbird’s wings. Her whole body presses close to Yang’s for a moment, and she feels _light_ , like the safety lines that are still attached to her belt might lift her right back into the air.

Even when she’s steady on her feet again, she doesn’t step away, and Yang doesn’t let go.

“You wanna go again?” Yang asks, grinning down at her. Biting the inside of her lip, Blake nods, oblivious to the way Ruby, Weiss, and Pyrrha are watching them.

“I think so.”

“Good.” Yang’s grin stretches. “Because this time… I’m gonna catch you.”

This second time, there are three of them climbing up the ladder instead of two. With Yang as catcher, Ruby has to be the one who gets Blake situated on the bar and time her release. Even though she knows Yang is getting into position for the sole purpose of catching her, she still feels a small twinge of disappointment that it’s not Yang who’ll give the orders to jump. 

Yang doesn’t need a harness to swing through the air. She rubs her hands in chalk, making sure she gets an even coating on her palms before reaching for the bar. It’s all natural to her; she leans forward, turns her head back to give Blake a wink, then pushes herself off the platform.

Blake stares openly, studying the way Yang arcs through the air, using her whole body to propel herself forward and up. She lets go without hesitation, grabbing for the next bar. Blake stares so intently at her, studying exactly when she curls her body around, the movements she makes to grip the bar with her knees.

She’s so caught up in it that she doesn’t notice Ruby handing her the bar until it’s almost directly in front of her face.

“When she grabs you, just slide off the bar,” Ruby instructs her while Blake grabs the bar with one hand. “Keep your arms stretched out, and she’ll do the hard work.”

“She’s strong, huh?” Blake asks, stalling for time. She knows Yang is perfectly capable of catching her-- she’s a trapeze instructor, for godsake-- but that doesn’t stop Blake from being nervous. She can’t stop her mind from flitting back to the last dance with the ballet, when Adam had been the one to carry her across the stage.

This would be different. _Yang_ would be different.

“Do you even have to ask?” Ruby says, like she can’t believe the question. Blake says nothing; her question had been rhetorical, anyway. She’s seen Yang toss people through the air often enough, and seen the flexing of her muscles enough, to _know_ how strong she is. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Blake says, mouth going dry.

“Ready… _hep_!”

Blake pushes off the platform, gripping the bar with both hands. She swings through the air, coming up to meet Yang.

_One, two, three, four_.

“Keep in time with me,” Yang reminds her unnecessarily, meeting her gaze for a second. Blake gives her a short nod, then brings her legs up. She hooks them around the bar, then lets her hands fall back as the trapeze starts its descent back toward the platform, swinging from her knees once again.

She arcs back up toward Yang, the trapezes moving in sync. She reaches out her hands as far as they’ll go, her heart pounding as she reaches the pinnacle of her swing. Her eyes connect with Yang’s, and sees the excited sparkle in her eyes.

_Five, six, seven, eight._

It doesn’t take much. Yang grabs a hold of Blake’s wrists, and Blake grabs Yang’s.

“Now let yourself fall,” Yang says. Blake loosens her legs, and _does_.

Yang’s grip locks around her wrists as Blake falls away from her trapeze. She gasps as she swings through the air, squeezing Yang’s wrists as tightly as she can.

“I’ve got you,” Yang grunts, and for all its gruffness, her tone is still so reassuring.

Blake looks up at her, and there’s more than just excitement in Yang’s eyes. There’s that same gentleness there, that same kindness, that same _joy_ , that she’s seen in flashes over the past few weeks. Seeing it pushes Blake to even higher heights than the trapeze could ever take her.

She returns the smile.

“Yang,” she says, breaths coming out in quick pants. “I--”

She tenses, feeling the rush of the downswing. She’s never been a pendulum before, but there’s a thrill to it, the same, steady rhythm she’s been built her life around. And, god, it’s so much better than the perfect, mechanical clockwork of the cuckoo bird she’d once been.

She swings her legs, keeping up the momentum like Yang had taught her. They move as one, climbing toward the peak, their hands pulling as they reach it.

Neither of them let go.

“You ready to drop?” Yang asks as they begin to descend once more. Reluctantly, Blake nods. “On my command…”

Blake looks up once more, feeling a flush on her cheeks. Yang’s lips are curled into the tiniest smirk.

“ _Hep!_ ”

They both release at once, and Blake falls, dropping to the net. She’s trembling a little when she lands on her back, a piece of the adrenaline that courses through her blood. She crawls away from underneath the still-swinging Yang, and rubs absently at the goosebumps on her upper arm, smearing chalk along the sweat. She's never felt so _alive_.

“Watch out, I’m dropping on this side!”

Blake barely has time to register what her words before Yang drops on the other end. The tension of the net gives way beneath her, and Blake feels the ripples of Yang’s weight along it, making her bounce.

“ _Yang_ ,” Weiss scolds, her voice shrill with indignation, “dropping onto the net when there’s _clearly_ someone else on it is against all safety protocols!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Yang replies, not sounding the least bit sorry as she crawls up to Blake and unhooks the safety lines from her belt. Then, she flops onto her back, arms stretched over her head. “You gonna report me to the authorities?”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Blake says, then shoots a stern look at Weiss. “You’re not a snitch, are you, Weiss?”

“But that-- and _I_ \--” she stammers, apparently not expecting a bite from Blake. Both Ruby and Yang cackle, and Pyrrha merely pats Weiss’s arm.

“I think you’re outnumbered, sweetheart,” she tells her.

“And snitches get stitches,” Ruby adds in sagely, calling out from where she’s climbing down the ladder.

Yang huffs, pulling her hair out of its bun and shaking it free. It tumbles down, draping through the holes in the net. “Well, if I get called out, we’ll know who to go for.” She lifts her arms up, twirls her fingers, and points them both at Weiss. Blake laughs.

“Hah hah,” Weiss says, folding her arms. “But you _do_ need to be careful. What if you’d landed on Blake? Accidents happen, Yang!”

“I know, I know,” Yang replies, suddenly irritated. “You don’t need to remind me.”

There’s an awkward moment of silence, and Blake looks from Yang to Weiss, confused. “Uh…”

“ _Anyway_!” Yang says quickly, plowing on, scratching her the back of her neck awkwardly. “That was fun! It’s always great, breaking in a newbie.”

“ _Breaking in_!” Ruby repeats with a snort. “Although…” she adds thoughtfully, “The trapeze lesson _officially_ means you’re one of us now, Blake!”

“It does?”

“Yep!” Ruby sets her hands on her hips, looking smug.

“I thought I was one of you when I started getting good at juggling,” Blake said, amused, to which Weiss rolls her eyes and Ruby roars with laughter.

“Isn’t that cute?” Ruby asks, nudging Weiss. “She thinks she’s good at juggling!”

“Everyone has to start somewhere,” Pyrrha reminds her, though she’s chuckling, too.

“What Ruby was _trying_ to get at,” Weiss cuts in, and Blake’s surprised to see a faint smile on her face. “Is that since you’re one of us now… we’d like to invite you to the wrap party this weekend.”

“Really?” Blake’s eyebrows shoot up, truly surprised. She knew there was a wrap party that weekend for _Legends from Olympus_ , but as she hadn’t been a part of the show, she hadn’t expected that anyone would want her there. Beside her, Yang bobs her head excitedly, and Ruby chimes in with a “ _Yeah!_ ”

“You basically know everyone, anyway,” Yang says, elbowing her. “It’d be stupid to exclude you just because you didn’t actually _perform_. Especially since you’re already working with everyone on the next show.”

“I…” Blake doesn’t want to seem _too_ eager to accept-- she doesn’t want to seem desperate-- but there’s already a smile on her face, at home there before she even had a chance to quash it. “I’d love to come,” she says, her gaze lingering on Yang, whose smile only widens.

Yang feels closer, for some reason; had she scooted closer to Blake? Or had Blake moved closer to _her_? Either way, it still doesn’t feel close enough. Blake swallows hard. 

“Then it’s settled,” Weiss says decisively. She claps her hands together. “I can text you the details, Blake. It’s going to be at Tai’s house-- he’s got a pool and everything-- and they usually end up going pretty late.”

“Circus people know how to have a good time!” Ruby crows, and Pyrrha lets out a low laugh. 

“They certainly know how to be _loud_ ,” Weiss comments. “I’ll have you know--”

“You were great up there,” Yang says to Blake, and even though her words are quieter than Weiss’s complaints, Yang’s voice drowns them out completely. Blake can feel her heart quicken.

“Think I’m circus material yet?” she asks, purposefully inching just a _little_ closer to Yang. Just enough to feel the heat that radiates off her body.

Yang seems to pick up the cue; she slips a casual arm around Blake's waist as she laughs. “If you weren’t circus material, you woulda never been hired! But…” She holds up a finger in front of Blake’s face, in front of her lips. “After today, maybe you can have a future on the trapeze.”

Blake looks down at that finger, then looks back up to meet Yang squarely in the eyes. Her lip curls in a smirk. “Lucky me.”

This, to Blake’s delight, sends color shooting up into Yang’s face. Her irises expand, and her fingers drum against Blake’s waist.

There’s a drumming in Blake’s chest, too.

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW warning :)

Blake knows she shouldn’t be backstage during the show, especially during a show she doesn’t perform in. But it’s the last showing of _Legends from Olympus_ , and Blake doesn’t want to just sit in the green room and watch the stream on the tiny TV screen; she wants to watch Yang’s last performance _live_.

Still, she tries to be as unobtrusive as possible. She’s in a dark sweater and jeans, sticking to the shadows and staying out of the way, always anticipating someone to come by to tell her to get lost. But no one ever does, and for that, Blake is grateful.

Performers bustle around her in a steady stream, moving off stage or into places, in costumes that are bright, shiny, glittery, feathery. It’s hard to stay out of the way of all the moving pieces, and at one point, she’s nearly whacked on the head by a part of the giant manticore puppet. She ducks, though she’s not even offended when the puppeteer doesn’t stop to apologize. The puppeteer is on a tight schedule, and Blake technically shouldn’t even be here. He owes nothing to someone who’s only in the way.

But it's always interesting to watch everything from behind the scenes. There’s so _much_ that happens that the audience wouldn’t even think about, so much scenery to move, so many props and bulky-looking equipment that’s moved about with surprising ease. But the tech people know what they’re doing, and Blake watches them shuffle around with newfound appreciation.

Blake isn’t surprised when she sees that Pyrrha has resumed her role as Aphrodite, but she’s no less disappointed that it isn’t Yang who emerges from the shell. Pyrrha is great, of course, but she’s got nothing on Yang.

She also watches Weiss on the tightrope, and Ruby, Yang, and Pyrrha on the trapeze. Nora is larger than life as she bounces on the trampoline wall, threading herself between Ren and the other jumpers, pushing herself off while thunder booms around her. There are dancers-- _so many dancers_ \-- who dart around the stage as nymphs, nereids, and satyrs. Some of them are on stilt-like shoes that bounce with each step, performing wild jigs as they leap high into the air. 

The energy is wild, reckless, and _invigorating_.

She hangs back while Yang darts quickly to places during the second act. Blake doesn’t want to distract her during her last show, so she hadn’t even told Yang she’d be here; she doesn't want to risk throwing Yang off her game right before such an intense act. For now, Blake is happy enough now to hide in the shadows, and enjoy Yang's dance in its full rawness.

The stage darkens, but two candles flicker on the stage. Blake sees two silhouettes: Yang and her father, Tai, each holding a candle. They lift the candles to their mouths, and blow them out. Blake smiles, already knowing what comes next.

Tai and Yang, Daedalus and Icarus, step toward their silks. Blake now knows to watch Yang’s form, and can pick out the way she entwines her body in the fabric, knotting it around her limbs. Blake’s just as spellbound now as she’d been the first time, staring unapologetically as Yang climbs the silks. 

It’s a whole new perspective, watching from backstage instead of in the producer’s box. From so close, it makes Yang look like she’s going up even higher than before, but it also makes Blake more nervous. She’s acutely aware of the jerking of the silks as Yang climbs, the way it sways. Yang’s too good to care about such little things, though; the silks are her home. This is what she _does_.

The music plays faster, louder, stronger. Yang races further skyward, the white silks draping her body as she flips and turns and twirls. 

How can someone have such a _mastery_ of their own body? Even Blake, a professional who’s spent years perfecting her ballet technique, is in awe as Yang works every muscle she has in her dance. She’s the epitome of control, knowing exactly what she’s doing with every square inch of her body.

_She’s perfection_ , Blake thinks, eyes wide as she watches Yang reach the top, touching the sun itself. _Utter, beautiful perfection_.

She remembers Yang’s finale, and only just remembers to brace herself as Yang drops. The fabric she’s wrapped around herself unravels as she falls, through the air and toward the stage. She spirals, looking wild to the ordinary audience-goer, but Blake knows better now.

Yang, for every second of this performance, is fully in control.

She hangs in the air, upside-down, her arms outstretched, her wings having fallen away. Her eyes are closed; even in death, something about Icarus seems to exude joy. After all, he’d gone after his dreams. He’d risked everything to fly into the sun.

Blake feels warm, almost dizzyingly so.

Maybe the sun isn’t so far away.

\--

Blake doesn’t stick around to watch the rest of the show. It probably means she’s selfish or something, that she goes straight to the dressing rooms after that performance, just to wait. She _should_ be supportive of the others, her new friends and coworkers with the circus, and give everyone equal congratulations at the end of the show. 

But, god, all she wants now is to wait here and hope to catch a moment alone with Yang.

She hovers by the dressing room door and keeps a hand behind her back, alternating between standing and leaning against the wall, her bones thrumming with energy. Seeing the show again, and having been close enough to see the sheen of sweat glitter on Yang’s forehead as she dangled, has cracked open something in Blake that’s starting to bleed into her reality. Consequences are becoming hazier; she’s blinded by something better.

“Blake!” Yang says, grinning as she strides down the hallway. She’s blessedly alone, and Blake hardly spares a thought to wonder where Ruby or Weiss might be. She’s too busy trying not to stare; in her lustrous, red, skin-tight Icarus costume, she’s absolutely stunning. “I thought you were meeting us at the party.”

“And miss your last show? Not a chance.”

Yang snorts.

“That was awful sweet of you,” she says, reaching into her hair to pull the bobby pins out of her hair. Little by little, her golden waves bounce free, some stray hairs sticking to the sweat at her temples. “But I’m glad you did. How’d I do?”

“You were okay,” Blake concedes, though she’s betrayed by the small smile on her lips. “I mean, I stuck around, didn’t I?”

“Always a good sign.” Yang says, chuckling. Her smile turns lopsided. “I’m gonna miss this show, though. Maybe we’ll be able to do it again in a few years, or if we ever tour, or something.”

“Well, I’m excited for what you do next,” Blake replies truthfully. She pauses. “So… I got you something. Since it’s your last show and all.”

“Oh?” Yang raises an eyebrow, interested. “What is it?”

Blake bites the inside of her cheek, biting back her smile from growing too wide as she pulls her hand out from behind her back. She’s holding a single sunflower, bringing it up between them, turning the flower so that it faces Yang.

“We do a sunflower for last performances, right?” Blake asks, all innocence as she offers it to Yang.

Yang’s face breaks into a delighted smile. She plucks the flower from Blake’s hand, cheeks growing pink. “Well, that _is_ what I got you for _your_ last show,” she agrees. She taps the center of the sunflower to her nose, inhaling, smiling over it at Blake.

“It can be our little tradition.”

“ _Tradition_. I like it,” Yang remarks. “And you probably got yours all honorably, right?” Her eyes twinkle. “You wouldn’t steal yours from Weiss like I did.”

“I bought it,” she agrees, chuckling. “Not that she would have noticed if I _did_ take one from her. I saw the dressing room. I’m surprised her vanity hasn’t collapsed from the sheer _weight_ of all the flowers she has.”

“Pyrrha spoils her.” Yang rolls her eyes, but it’s all fondness. If there’s one thing Blake’s noticed over the past month, it's that Yang’s sisterly endearment extends towards Weiss just as much as it does Ruby. “So you’re probably right.”

Yang lowers the flower, her smile unchanging. The petals make her seem to glow.

“But… thank you,” she says, her low voice warm and sincere. “I love it.”

She takes a step closer to Blake, and Blake doesn’t step away. Her heartbeat only quickens, as it always does when Yang’s close. She wants to say something, wants to urge her closer, wants to take Yang’s hand and feel it in her own. But she only looks up, meeting Yang’s eyes, and watches the bob of Yang’s throat as she swallows.

She holds her breath as Yang reaches out a tentative hand, fingers brushing Blake’s cheek. Blake can faintly smell chalk on it, a scent that’s quickly becoming a comforting one. She takes a deep breath, tilting her head into Yang’s hand.

“So, I was thinking,” Yang murmurs. “If you want--”

“ _Yang_!” comes a loud shriek. Yang grimaces, jerking her hand back from Blake’s cheek. The loss makes Blake want to groan. Just _what_ had Yang tried to say?

“Hey, Ruby,” Yang says weakly, turning around. It isn’t just Ruby who approaches, but Weiss and Pyrrha are here, as well. Weiss’s eyes immediately land on the sunflower Yang’s holding, and gives both of them a flat stare.

“I hope we’re not stealing from _other peoples’_ flower arrangements again,” she says.

“For once? No,” Yang says pleasantly. “Blake bought this one fair and square.”

“Oh?” Ruby asks, sounding a little too curious for her own good. “A flower, huh?”

“Well, she got me one for _my_ last show, so now we're even,” Blake replies evenly.

“Mhm.” Ruby’s eyes narrow, still unconvinced. Weiss rolls her eyes, but dismisses the flower immediately.

“You should get changed, Yang,” she says, getting right down to business. “I’d rather not be forced to _hike_ to Tai’s place because we couldn’t find a good parking spot.”

“A little walking is good for you,” Yang replies airily, waving a hand.

“Not when you’re hungover,” Weiss snaps. “If you’ll remember last time--”

“Point taken,” Yang says with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll be quick.”

“Are you going to ride with us, Blake?” Pyrrha asks, polite as ever. Blake winces.

“I’m fine with getting a Lyft, if there’s no room,” Blake says, but Yang claps her on the back, letting her hand linger.

“There’s room for five,” she says. “If you don’t mind a tight fit, and I don’t mind squeezing a little. And it'll save you a few bucks!”

Blake nods; with her budget, saving even the fare for a Lyft would go a long way. A tiny knot of worry in her brains unwinds, relieved at saving even a little money tonight.

That… and the idea of being squeezed into the backseat of a car next to Yang isn’t a bad idea at all.

\--

Blake had been worried that when she arrived at Tai’s house for the cast party, she’d feel unwelcome, an outsider. That she’d be stuck to the edges of the house, silently sipping whatever alcohol was most easily available as she watched everyone have fun around her.

The reality couldn’t be further from that.

The minute Blake walks through the door, she feels the welcoming energy surrounding her. Tai’s place is a roomy colonial-style house just outside the city limits, with a makeshift bar in the living room and a swimming pool in the back. The vivid colors of the circus seem to have seeped into the house itself, in the bright paint and colorful posters and the array of sunflowers on the mantle. Pictures line the walls, most of them Ruby and Yang in various stages of childhood. Blake peers closer at one, thinking it’s a picture of Ruby, high up on a trapeze. Upon closer inspection, however, it’s clear this picture is much older, the costume a bit more outdated. A relative?

But that picture is only a reminder that this is the house both Yang and Ruby grew up in, Blake thinks to herself, looking around. Full of hints of their past, their family, all of the hues that filled in their lives. 

Growing up with all this color, it's no wonder their personalities are so bright.

Tai greets her by name immediately and hands her a drink, and as more people arrive at the house, everyone’s exuberance feels contagious. Everyone is ready to laugh and joke and talk, filled with the excited buzz of a finished show, and without even trying, Blake is sucked into conversation.

Blake bounces from group to group, not wanting to monopolize Yang’s time too much. She talks with Jaune, Pyrrha, Nora, and Ren, and also somehow manages to avoid being lured into some complicated drinking game Nora insists is a _classic_. She stumbles away only to arrive back at the tablecloth-covered folding table that’s being used as the bar, where she meets the circus’s photographer, Velvet, and is treated to _the drink of the night_.

“This tastes like battery acid,” Blake says, wincing, setting the solo cup down. Velvet giggles, and her girlfriend, Coco, shakes her head.

“This is why she isn’t usually allowed to make the drinks,” Coco tells her, prying the cup out of Blake’s fingers. “You’d think she’d have learned a thing or two by now, with how often she’s seen me do it.”

“It’s _called_ experimenting,” Velvet says, her accent making her sound even more haughty as Coco takes a cautious sip of the drink. She grimaces.

“Oh no. This _experiment_ could kill people, Velv.”

“But Blake’s tough, right?” Velvet gives Blake a nudge. “You survived the cutthroat world of ballet! Surely she can handle a drink.”

“Except that wasn’t a drink,” Blake says, laughing, while Coco pours her something that hopefully _doesn’t_ taste like a biohazard. “That was actual _poison_.”

“It’d get you drunk, though,” Velvet replies with a wink. “And isn’t that all it needs to do?”

Not that Blake needs the help, of course. The whole night, she’s never without a drink in hand, and even when she finishes one, she quickly finds another. It’s _fun_ , to not be restricted, to be able to help herself to a drink without someone looking over her shoulder. It’s a freedom she hasn’t known since college, and she lets the boozy haze wash over her, wearing away at her usual fears and anxieties.

For once, she just lets go.

“...so they didn’t even see me! I was literally hanging by my tail, and-- Blake? Are you even listening?”

“What?” Blake blinks, eyes refocusing on Sun. He’s another acrobat and dancer, who uses his monkey tail to perform acts that others couldn’t even attempt. Fortunately, he also seems to have a good sense of humor, and he’s not offended that Blake tuned him out. He laughs instead.

“Never mind, then. You’ve probably heard me tell this one before, anyway.”

“I think you’ve told it to me twice, actually,” Blake replies, sipping her drink. “Once when I first joined, and then once a week after that.”

“Well, it’s a good story!” Sun says, and beside him, Neptune snorts.

“It’s probably the only good story you’ve got.”

“Now _that’s_ not true! I have _loads_ of good stories!” Sun waves his drink around, and some of it sloshes over the edge, splattering Neptune, who lets out a surprisingly high-pitched squeal. But then Sun leans over, his teeth dazzling with a smile. “And uh, y’know, Blake… if you wanna hear about ‘em, I’d be more than happy to tell you over a drink sometime.”

But Blake’s mind is already swimming again. It’s been a while since she last caught sight of Yang, and she wonders where she might have gone. She looks off to the side, not even realizing Sun’s words are for her.

“Blake?” he says, and Blake snaps back to attention.

“Sorry?” she asks, and has just enough self-awareness to feel a twinge of shame. Sun sighs, and Neptune laughs.

“I _told_ you she wouldn’t be interested,” he says knowingly, elbowing him.

“Oh!” Blake exclaims, as realization dawns at what he must have asked. Her face heats up. “Oh, uh… sorry. I’m not really, uh…”

Sun waves a hand. “No worries,” he says, though he does look a bit put out.

“This isn’t the first time he’s been turned down by a girl _way_ out of his league,” Neptune quips, and Sun gives him a shove. Neptune yelps as his drink splashes around in his cup. “Hey! Watch it!”

Blake smiles aimlessly, eyes already beginning to roam across all the faces again. She looks out the sliding glass door and sees Ruby at the edge of the pool, already in her bathing suit, trying to tug Penny along to jump in. Weiss is standing nearby, lingering around Robyn’s group of friends and a woman who looks like she’d have to be Weiss’s sister. Still, no Yang.

“Excuse me a sec,” Blake says abruptly, interrupting the good-natured bickering between Sun and Neptune.

“Huh?” Sun asks, surprised, but Blake’s already stumbling away. She’s on a mission, heading toward the backyard space where the light from the pool casts a blue glow.

She nearly trips over the lip of the door, though she manages to keep a hold of her drink. A few people look over her way, Weiss included. She gives Blake a dry, knowing stare. Blake, though, takes it as an invitation and goes to her.

“Is Yang out here?” she asks, trying to keep her slurring voice low. Weiss rolls her eyes so hard that Blake can almost hear them rattle around her skull.

“Over there,” she says, jamming her thumb behind her, pointing away from the pool and further back into the yard.

Weiss has turned back to Robyn’s group before Blake can even stammer out a _thank you_. She gulps down the rest of her drink, gives Weiss a vacant pat on the shoulder (to which Weiss turns back to her and _glares_ ), and heads over to where she’d pointed.

The playground is dark, lit only by a singular decorative lamppost. Fortunately, with Blake’s good night vision, it’s enough. Enough to see Yang, dangling by her knees from the small trapeze there, her long hair hanging loose, her sweater riding dangerously low down her body. It’s hard not to stare at her abs, and the hint of her chest.

“What’re you doing?” Blake asks, coming to a halt in front of her. The trapeze is high for a playground, and Yang’s upside-down face is level with Blake’s. She smiles at Blake.

“I drank too much, so I’m just gonna swing it off,” Yang replies cheerfully. “So I’m just hanging here. It’ll help my _hang_ over. Get it?”

“That’s awful.” As much as she tries to stop herself from giggling, that’s exactly what she ends up doing, and she claps a hand over her mouth to hold her laughter back. Yang’s grin widens. “So being upside-down won’t make you puke?”

“Nope. I’m a _professional_. Give me a push.”

Blake laughs, steps around behind Yang. She’s careful not to touch Yang’s skin; she has that much decency, at least. She pushes her shoulders, sending Yang forward.

“So what’re you doing over here?” Blake asks, tripping over her words. She gives Yang another push, sending her further. “All on your own?”

“I’m not on my own, though,” Yang replies, rolling her core to build up momentum. The muscles in her back stretch and ripple. “You’re with me now, right?”

“But I wasn’t.”

“But you are _now_.”

Blake laughs again. “Yeah,” she says. “I am.”

Yang’s built up enough speed that she doesn’t need Blake’s help anymore. Blake moves back around to Yang’s front, but her subtlety was lost along with her sobriety; her eyes fall on the curling of Yang’s abs, and it takes a little too long before she remembers to look away. Yang, still swinging, smirks. 

“Enjoying the view?” she slurs. Blake rolls her eyes.

“Hate it.”

Yang chuckles. She doesn’t buy it, as well she shouldn’t. Blake’s entirely too obvious, her heart on her sleeve. But maybe it’s for the best; maybe at this point, it’s what she needs.

“Dad built this playground _special_ for me and Ruby,” Yang tells her, her smile softening at the corners. “And it was a great way to get us interested in the trapeze as kids.”

“So you were trapeze rats, huh?” Blake teases.

“Still am, baby,” Yang preens, oblivious to the effect the pet name has on Blake. _Baby_. She likes that, probably a little too much.

“Still are,” Blake agrees, hoping she sounds cool rather than heartstruck.

“Yeah. That, and…” Yang hesitates, and it's the kind of hesitation that fills not just her voice, but her face, as well. She pulls herself up in a long, languid motion to sit on the bar. She sits there for a moment, letting herself swing, bowing her head. It casts shadows over her face, making it hard for Blake to see.

“And what?” she asks curiously. Yang blows a puff of air through her lips, laughing nervously.

“Nothing. I’m just drunk.”

“You can say anything,” Blake replies. She takes a bold step closer. “Drunk or not.”

Even shrouded by shadow, she can see Yang’s smile. “You’re sweet. You know that, right?”

Blake’s grateful that she can blame the booze for the heat in her blood; it means she can just dismiss the blush in her cheeks as an alcohol flush instead.

“It’s not a big deal, anyway,” Yang continues, sighing. “I was just gonna say… that the other reason he built this thing, too, was because he was worried Ruby and I would, like… be afraid of the trapeze, or something. So he built the playground and hoped we could get comfortable with it again. And not be afraid.”

“Why would you be afraid?”

“Well…” Yang doesn’t look directly at Blake; she tilts her head up, looking upward and toward the stars while she pumps her legs, like she’s trying to swing high enough to reach them. “Did anyone tell you about the accident?”

“What accident?” Blake asks, feeling an inexplicable sense of dread surrounding the word. Yang’s face screws up in a grimace.

“I guess no one would tell you about something like that,” she says. “It’s… not the thing newbies would want to hear. And it’s not a thing _we_ like to talk about, either. But, the short of it… my mom did trapeze, too, right? And… well... there was an accident. And you know how accidents go.”

The words skip across Blake’s dim thoughts, taking a moment to process. When they do, her eyes widen.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” she manages to come up with. Yang shrugs, hooking her knees back around the bar and letting herself fall back down, her hair tumbling down and shirt sliding down her stomach. She continues to swing back and forth, the most beautiful pendulum Blake’s ever seen.

“It was a while ago,” she says, like it matters. “But Dad was worried Ruby and I would be afraid of the trapeze after that, especially since our other mom, Raven, left the circus. Tried to get us to go with her, too. So I guess our own little kid-sized trapeze helped us hold onto our love for it, or something. But I don’t ever remember being really _afraid_ of it, y’know?”

“Yeah…” Blake says, surprised at the prick of tears behind her eyes. She doesn’t know what they’re for; Yang had explained herself so simply, and matter-of-factly, without much outright emotion for Blake to get worked up about. It’s probably just the alcohol, she tells herself.

But it runs deeper than that, too, and she knows it, though she can’t quite put her finger on the reasoning. It has something to do with Yang, how she’s still willing to get up on that trapeze even after it’s stolen so much from her, how she’s not afraid of it. Next to her, Blake is a coward. She’d been scared to leave behind the life she’d known. There had been no death involved, but she’d still been too terrified to help herself. 

In some ways, she still _is_. 

“You’re strong, then,” Blake says weakly, shoving her hands in her pockets. Yang shrugs.

“More stubborn than strong, I think,” she replies. When she shakes her head, it makes her hair bounce, which Blake is entirely too preoccupied with. “And _definitely_ more stupid. I know there’s risks with what I do. I _know_ that. But… it’s a risk I’m willing to take. This is the life I want to live, and I’m not going to let a little risk stop me.” She stops herself, then laughs. “Sorry. I got a little heavy there, didn’t I?”

“You can be heavy with me if you need to be,” Blake says, offering up a smile. “That offer’s always open.”

Yang grips the bar with one hand, using it to pull herself back up slightly. She cranes her head around to look back toward Blake, and at this angle, the moonlight falls on her face _just_ right, giving her a strange, beautiful aura.

“You’re sweet,” she says for the second time, and it makes Blake’s heart beat just as hard as it had before. “But it’s okay. Old news. Water under the bridge and all that. I’m just being drunk and stupid.”

“If you say _I’m drunk_ again,” Blake says with a snort. “You’ll owe _me_ a drink.”

“I can get you a drink anyway,” Yang says, letting herself flop back upside down. Her swings have been getting slower and slower, which she’s finally seemed to notice. “Push me again?”

Blake rolls her eyes, but of course she pushes her again. And it’s worth it, to hear Yang laugh as she swings. It feels so innocent, like they’re kids again, and when Yang reaches back, Blake plays along, holding out her own arms. She lets Yang take her by the wrists, and Blake picks up her feet, letting Yang swing her forward. By then, Blake’s laughing, too.

And she’s still laughing when Yang releases her, even when she stumbles forward on the dirt.

“Y’okay?” Yang asks, pulling herself up anxiously.

“I’m good!” Blake giggles, finding her feet. “My reflexes right now just aren’t very, uh…”

“You’re drunk, too,” Yang remarks, snorting as she drops back down, dangling again. “Oops. Do I owe you a drink now?”

“I said you did if you said _you_ were drunk. I guess that makes me fair game.”

“Fair game,” Yang repeats, her smile lazy. “I like that.” 

For what feels to be the hundredth time that night, Blake’s face flushes again. But before she can think of a response, Yang’s speaking again.

“So, what brings you out here, anyway?” she asks. “Bored of the party already?”

“Nah. It’s fun. It’s a good group of people,” Blake replies, watching the back-and-forth of Yang’s body. It’s a soothing motion. Maybe that, and the alcohol coursing through her blood, is why she lets her guard down and goes on. “Which is more than I can say for the White Fang.”

“You said they weren’t great people, right?” Yang asks, brows furrowing. “Or something like that.”

“Yeah.” Blake hesitates. “Well, a lot of them were fine. But… enough of them weren’t.”

Yang lets herself slow, bringing her own efforts to a stop and letting the trapeze naturally cease its swinging. She studies Blake, looking so serious even when she’s upside-down.

"I'm so sorry," Yang says softly, sounding suddenly sober. She flips herself on the bar, her movements slow and careful as she lands upright, with much more grace than Blake had. She takes a step closer to Blake, then hesitates. "They… weren't good to you, were they?"

"It…" Blake swallows. Every emotion, ramped up to one hundred, threatens to spill over. "It was mostly just one person who wasn’t good to me, I guess. Just him." A pause. “My ex.”

And without even needing to explain, Yang seems to understand. Her forehead creases with a faint frown, apparently not too drunk to make the connection between what Blake's saying now with what she's described before.

"Blake," she murmurs. She reaches out a tentative hand and Blake, unthinking of the repercussions, takes it.

“It’s fine now,” Blake mutters, looking away. “I left and-- and it’s all fine.”

“Shit,” Yang says softly. “I was… wondering if you’d been through something. I mean, I could tell you’d been through _something_ , and I wasn’t gonna ask, but--”

“It’s okay,” Blake says hurriedly. “It’s all fine now.”

She’s still looking away, and her senses are slow enough that she doesn’t see Yang’s hand rise toward her until it’s brushing her cheek. Blake’s ears shoot up, but Yang’s touch is nothing but tenderness. She fixes her eyes on her, focus pulled solely toward Yang; for right now, in this moment, she is the only thing in Blake’s universe.

“You deserve so much more,” Yang says, sounding almost wistful. She slides her fingers into Blake’s hair, soft against her scalp. “You know that, right? You… are worth so much more than they gave you. That man, the ballet… hell.” Yang lets out a short, breathless laugh. “Even the world. You deserve so much _more_.”

It’s like the whole party stills around them, everything dreamlike and not quite real. It’s only them, only Yang’s touch, only Blake’s heartbeat. Her inhibitions are long gone, so she lets her words fly free.

“Like you,” Blake says.

Yang blinks once, stuck in a fog of her own, fingers slowly stroking through Blake’s hair like it’s a reflex.

“I…” she begins, but Blake stops her, pressing a finger to Yang’s lips.

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” she asks, surprised at her own aching need for it. Against her finger, Blake feels Yang’s crooked smile.

“You know why,” she replies, her voice rough.

“I don’t,” Blake insists. Her finger slides down, stopping at Yang’s lower lip.

“Do you remember what I said, during your first lesson?” Yang asks, eyes flickering down to look at the finger that’s slowly trailing down her chin.

“Which part?”

“About how… if you weren’t ready for it, I didn’t want to push you.” Blake’s finger slides down Yang’s neck, and she can feel her swallow. “And… you’ve already had so much going on, and I wasn’t even _sure_ you wanted me to, so--”

“I _do_ ,” Blake says, letting her hand settle along the side of Yang’s neck. Her skin is so warm, and she feels the quick flutter of her pulse. “Kiss me now.”

And god, she’s never wanted anything more.

Yang kisses her, or maybe she kisses Yang. It’s hard to tell, and it doesn’t really matter anyway. Everything is hazy, and they’re melding together, Yang’s arms encircling Blake’s waist and Blake digging her fingers into Yang’s shirt. She wants Yang _close_ , to feel the warmth of her body against her own, to drown in her scent, to lick the faint taste of alcohol off her lips.

Yang sighs into her mouth, looping Blake’s hair around her fingers as she pulls her closer. Her lips are so _soft_ , which shouldn’t come as a surprise to Blake, but it does. She was expecting something hard, like Adam’s lips had been, or rough, like Yang’s hands. Soft, for some reason, had never even crossed her mind, but it’s exactly what she’s getting now.

And it’s _perfect_.

There’s no discussion about it when Yang lowers to the ground, tugging Blake along with her. There’s no discussion, either, when Blake settles onto her knees, each on either side of Yang’s legs, straddling her lap without even breaking the kiss. 

This is the kind of kiss that’s too important to break for something so simple, or so mundane, as repositioning. And, _god_ , why hadn’t they done this sooner?

Time must be passing-- it has to be. Not that Blake can comprehend that passage, aside from the steady rise and fall of Yang’s chest against her own, and the breaths against her mouth. She’s too lost in them to notice the world around them, of anything or anyone who _isn’t_ Yang Xiao Long.

“Blake,” Yang mumbles between kisses. There’s heaviness and huskiness in that single word, and hearing it makes Blake groan. Her lips feel swollen, so she knows, logically, that it’s for the best that Yang breaks it off. But Yang doesn’t stop; when her lips leave Blake’s, they linger on her skin, kissing along her jaw, moving slowly across it and down to her neck, exploratory and eager, and the sensations are so otherworldly, so _good_ , that it doesn’t even feel real. Rather than holding her back, it spurs her on, and Blake grips tightly onto the hem of Yang’s shirt.

Blake hums, tilting her head back, letting Yang continue to kiss, each one pressing hotly onto her skin, searing her. Yang sucks her skin, her pulse point, using her teeth to nip and mark, and the rush that floods Blake’s body is hotter than any drink she’s had that night.

“Maybe,” she murmurs as Yang kisses trail around the front of her neck, “we should… go somewhere. Tonight. Together. Now.”

She _feels_ Yang’s smile rather than sees it, and it sends a shiver running down Blake’s back.

“Yeah,” Yang agrees, her voice low. “ _Now_.”

\--

A Lyft ride has never felt so long. Blake’s blood roars in her ears, and it’s all she can do to hold onto her own restraint and not make out with Yang in the backseat. She forces herself to be satisfied with simply sitting next to her, in feeling Yang’s hand rub her thigh, or her back. She’s as close as she can be to Yang without climbing onto her lap, which still isn’t close enough, but it’s all she can allow herself now.

There aren’t any thoughts left in Blake’s head; she’s only fueled by pure, primal need.

Yang’s apartment is back in Vale proper, inside a narrow building with too many stairs. Enough stairs, at least, to make Blake dizzy, and she quickly loses track of them. But Yang stops her often, stealing a kiss, a touch, a laugh. Every time they pause between floors, Blake giggles when Yang wraps her arms around her again, tempting her with lips that never linger long enough.

“Ruby and Weiss are probably gonna stay at Dad’s tonight,” Yang tells her as she fiddles with her keys. “That was our original plan, before…” Yang lets out another laugh, and pushes the door open.

Blake catches a glimpse of the darkened entryway-- a simple table, a vase of flowers-- but when Yang kisses her again, she loses all interest in her surroundings. Yang’s already pulling Blake’s sweater off, blindly tossing it at a coat hook while Blake slides her hands beneath Yang’s shirt, greedily feeling her skin, the lines of muscle, and Yang groans.

There’s no talking as Yang leads Blake to another room, stumbling a little as they refuse to detach from each other’s mouth. Blake’s drunk, yes, but it feels like she’s more drunk on Yang than anything else. And, from the look of things, Yang seems to be the same way, sloppy and needy and clumsy, with so much less grace than she has in the air, but even without that grace, she’s still the most beautiful person Blake’s ever seen.

Without even undressing first, Yang backs Blake onto the bed, and Blake stretches her arms over her head as she lays back. She closes her eyes, letting out a soft moan as Yang’s hands slide under her tank top, palms skimming over every inch of skin. Her fingers slip under Blake’s bra, pushing it up to cup her breasts, and Blake lets out a shuddering sigh as Yang’s fingers brush over her nipples, hyper-aware of the wetness between her legs. It’s not enough, but it’s close.

_So_ close.

“Please,” Blake whimpers, reaching down to pull up her shirt. “Just _touch_ me.”

At least Yang makes quick work of it, pulling off Blake’s clothes and tossing them to the floor. Her hands immediately return to Blake’s skin, sliding up and down before she kisses Blake again, along her jaw and neck and chest and, _god_ , Blake’s never been so aware of her own breath as when Yang’s head is right there, kissing over where her lungs are expanding and collapsing in on themselves, making her chest rise and fall.

Yang pulls her own shirt over her head, yanks her own pants down. Even before she’s kicked them off her ankles, before Blake’s even had much time to _look_ , she’s pressing her body against Blake’s. Blake hooks a leg around her, pulling her closer and opening herself, aching for Yang’s lips, Yang’s touch, for _pressure_. She can’t recall wanting anything more, can’t imagine anything outside of _them_.

Yang is on top of her, long hair hanging loose as she works her hand between Blake's legs. The darkness makes her eyes soft, almost as soft as her lips when she kisses Blake. She kisses her lips, her neck, her shoulders, everywhere she can as she starts to fuck Blake with her fingers. 

This is a moment Blake's definitely fantasized before, dreamed about at night. But as often as she's imagined it, it's nothing compared to the way Yang looks now. Blake gasps when Yang curls her fingers; she doesn't know if the alcohol is making her so responsive or if Yang is just that good, but either way, this is so much better than her dreams.

" _God_ ," Yang breathes, and Blake's own breath stutters. "You're beautiful. You’re so _fucking_ beautiful."

"Yang," Blake whimpers, 

She's so turned on, so wet, that she can _hear_ Yang's fingers pumping into her, a new kind of beat for her to count. 

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight_.

Blake moans Yang's name as she cums, her fingers digging into her back, leaving long scratches as she drags her nails down. As she does so, Yang is studying her face intently, an expression there that Blake can't decipher that feels strangely adoring, and so strong that, for some reason, it almost makes Blake want to cry.

Even so, it takes her a moment to catch her breath. She looks up at Yang, entranced with the way the shadows define her muscles, her curves. She runs a hand across Yang’s arm, up to her shoulders, and back down to her chest. Yang draws in a choking breath, and when Blake pulls her down to the bed with her, she doesn’t resist.

Blake wants to touch everything, so she does, fingertips skirting over every indentation of muscle, every curve, putting her lips onto Yang’s skin and kissing every freckle she can make out in the darkness. There’s so many of them, and Blake’s lips get sloppy, but Yang’s also begging for more than just the kisses, more than the simple touches.

“Blake.” Yang’s voice comes out as a hiss. “Please. Just--”

Her words are cut off by a long, guttural groan as Blake’s fingers slip against her clit, and Yang’s fingers grip the bedsheets, her knuckles white. Her hips buck upward, and Blake’s fingers slide into her so _easily_. All of Yang’s control that night, the control that Blake had so admired, all gone in an instant, played right onto Blake’s hand.

All that control… now it’s all _hers_.

It doesn’t take long for Yang to find her release, and she shudders, wrapping her arms around Blake’s back to pull her closer. She kisses Blake messily in the aftermath, and with each breath, Blake sinks even more against her, until they practically meld together on the bed in a sloppy jumble.

But Blake isn’t done; she’d _liked_ Yang’s response, and is eager to see it again. This time, she kisses down Yang’s body, between her breasts, along her abs, and by the time Blake’s lips reach her cunt, Yang is already half-fallen apart; each muscle in her body is drawn, tense, her mouth open and soundless. It’s a mouth Blake is tempted to kiss again, but she resists the urge. And it’s worth it, especially when she flicks her tongue, and tastes her, and _god_ , this is all Blake has ever wanted.

No. _Yang_ is all she’s ever wanted.

Or maybe that’s just a drunk thought, but Yang cums again, and it’s an image that burns into Blake’s mind. The way Yang chokes out her name, the dizzy way she looks down at her, the way she throbs against Blake’s mouth. 

Drunk thought or not, Blake thinks, it’s the truth. For now, at least, for this moment, Yang is _everything_.

It’s a feeling that carries even when Yang sits up and their stances shift; she kisses Blake, deeply, intently, as while she gently urges Blake onto her back.

She’s never been so eager to relinquish that newfound control, but for Yang, it feels safe to do just that. She doesn’t push. She only _waits_ , always watching for Blake to release, always prepared to catch. 

And she’s never let Blake fall.

_This isn’t about control_ , Blake realizes later, when her nerves aren’t overwhelmed by the tongue on her clit, or the skin against her own. Yang’s never been about control, about its give and take. No, what Blake had done was confuse control for what Yang was _really_ teaching her. And finally, curled under the blanket beside Yang, Blake understands.

What Yang had shown her was _trust_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... another NSFW warning...

After weeks in countless unfamiliar hotel beds, Blake probably shouldn’t be surprised by yet another one. But this one is different. This room is actually lived in, with dark purple curtains and framed posters on the walls and clothes (some of them her own) scattered across the floor. This isn’t the room she’d most recently rented out, and even though her head is throbbing, everything clicks into place.

She’d kissed Yang last night. They’d kissed, and gone home together, and…

There are bedsheets tangled around Blake’s waist, but all she can comprehend is the arm that’s wrapped around her. It feels so good, and so warm, on her bare skin that she instinctively wriggles back, further into that warmth. As she does so, she feels a damp spot beneath her; she thinks of the way Yang had touched her, caressed her, fucked her, and she can’t remember the last time sex had felt so good.

It hadn’t been a dream, after all.

There’s a shifting behind her, and a soft sigh. Carefully, Blake rolls onto her back, and the arm around her loosens slightly. She turns her head, and sure enough, it’s Yang’s face that’s next to hers, still sleeping.

She’s never seen Yang sleeping before. She smiles tiredly, reaching out a finger to brush an errant curl away from Yang’s face. God, she’s beautiful, with the freckles dusting across her face and arms, the messiness of her hair. It was hard to get a good look at her the night before in the darkness and shadows, but the sun is Yang’s true element. It gives her skin a radiant glow, and especially in her nakedness, it isn’t hard to picture Yang as some sort of sunstruck statue of a goddess.

_Aphrodite_ , Blake thinks, still smiling, as she closes her eyes again.

She doesn’t go back to sleep again. Rather, she’s still trying to process the night before, trying to remember just what she’d done, what she’d said, how it had all led to this. As good as the outcome was, she feels like an idiot. She’d certainly acted like one; she wouldn’t be surprised if the whole troupe noticed her drunken fixation on Yang that night.

And, as usual, overthinking it makes it worse. Even though Yang is literally right next to her, in _bed_ with her, Blake feels the hot pulsings of shame, and guilt. She’d told Yang too much last night-- she’d slipped up, and opened herself too wide. She didn’t want pity, but she has a horrible suspicion that pity was exactly what she’d gotten. Had pity tainted their night together?

Yang stirs, and Blake’s eyes flutter open. She rolls onto her other side in order to face Yang, and even with all her worries and doubts, watching her wake up is worth it.

She blinks groggily, though on seeing Blake, a smile unfurls across her face. Automatically, Blake’s worries melt away, and she returns that smile.

“G’morning,” Yang says, rubbing at her eyes, then at her temples. Maybe _swinging_ hadn’t helped her hangover as much as she said it would. But then she wraps her arm back around Blake, and Blake allows herself to be pulled closer. 

Kissing Yang by daylight feels new all over again, with all the shyness and uncertainty alcohol had numbed the night before. But it’s something Blake gets over quickly; kissing Yang is just _comfortable_. She could get used to these lips; she should’ve been kissing them all along. 

“Sleep okay?” Yang asks, finally pulling herself away from Blake, though it looks like she regrets doing so.

“Mm.” She closes her eyes, and nuzzles her face into Yang’s neck. Like this, she could easily fall asleep again, which is only compounded when Yang begins to stroke her back. “Haven’t slept this well in a long time.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” Blake repeats. She forces herself to roll onto her back again, or else she might _actually_ fall back asleep. Yang stays on her side, propping her head up in her hand. The arm around Blake’s waist comes around, dragging her fingers across Blake’s stomach. Already, the simple touch has goosebumps rolling across her body. She hums again and closes her eyes, letting herself enjoy it.

“How come?” Yang asks, sketching aimless patterns into Blake’s skin.

“Stress, I guess? Shitty mattresses?” Blake lets out a huff of amusement, but even though she doesn’t quite feel awake, she knows she has to skirt around the true details: the cheap rooms she’s been renting, the fear of being tracked down, juggling her job and the circus, and still struggling to keep the debt at bay. But it’s all easy enough to dismiss. “Plus,” she says, a smile twitching to life. “Sleeping next to you was very nice.”

Yang chuckles, continuing to swirl her fingers across Blake’s body. She’s creeping upward, and Blake’s nipples stiffen in anticipation. “It _was_ nice,” she agrees. “You don’t even snore or anything.”

Blake lets out a short laugh, but it quickly turns into a shallow gasp as Yang drags her fingers up her breast. She lets out another small sigh as Yang spirals them along her breast. Blake’s lost track of the conversation as Yang rolls her nipple between her fingers, both soft and fire-setting at the same time.

“I don’t think you snored, either,” Blake says, opening her eyes, determined to concentrate on the conversation at hand. But she’s staring down at Yang’s hand hungrily, and the smirk on Yang’s lips means she isn’t fooled. “Then… then again, I fell asleep pretty quickly.”

“We were both pretty tired,” Yang agrees, continuing to tease Blake’s nipple. “Between the show, and the party, and after…”

She trails off. Blake gets what she means. Unable to resist anymore, she buries her fingers into Yang’s hair, and pulls her in for another kiss. And then another.

And it’s the same thing, all over again, just like the night before. So quickly, Yang is on top of her, kissing her, and Blake’s hands are roaming all over the skin of her back and soaking up her heat. She moans as Yang massages her breasts, kissing downward, down her neck, her chest, her stomach...

Yang tugs the sheet down over Blake’s hips, and automatically, Blake parts her legs. She’s already wet, already needy and desperate. She knots her fingers into Yang’s hair, pulling her mouth closer, whispering pleas that hardly make sense to her own ears. But those same pleas make Yang laugh, and Blake can’t even bring herself to care about that when Yang’s tongue presses against her clit.

She grinds against Yang’s mouth, panting, her soft, tiny sounds escaping her throat in time with the gyrating of her hips. Yang seems so _intent_ on making her feel good, to a point where Blake feels the curve of a smile against her cunt, the stroking of Yang’s thumb on her thigh, the almost imperceptible groans of a person who loves what she’s doing.

Yang’s head bobs in front of her, so mesmerizing. Blake feels the results, the flattening of her tongue, the way she licks inside her, the steady motion. Blake can’t close her eyes to this; she can only stare, eyes wide, fingers tightening in Yang’s hair as she feels herself climb, and climb, and climb.

Yang’s eyes flicker upward, and it undoes her. Blake gasps, her nails scratching along Yang’s scalp. Probably too hard, but Yang doesn’t complain, and Blake is too high to think of anything outside of her own pulse, outside of how _good_ Yang’s mouth feels between her legs, outside of how soft her eyes are.

Blake releases her hold of Yang’s hair, but doesn’t release her hold on those eyes.

She floats back down to the mattress, still staring, trying to catch her breath. The corner of Yang’s mouth twitches as she pushes herself back up, crawling back up to Blake’s level. Her lips glisten, and Blake tastes herself when she leans in to kiss her. She lets her tongue slip lazily across Yang’s lower lip, then into her mouth.

It’s a sleepy kind of kiss, and Blake finally lets her eyes droop closed. Yang’s arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer. Blake tries to wriggle her entire body into Yang’s form, though it still doesn’t feel close enough.

“I could fall right back asleep after all that,” Blake mumbles. Yang lets out a low chuckle, then kisses her again.

“Go ahead,” Yang replies, smoothing a hand over Blake’s hair. “We’ve got all the time in the world. It’s only…” She shifts a little, keeping a careful arm wrapped around Blake while she stretches over to the nightstand. Blake opens an eye to watch Yang turn her phone on. “Eight-thirty. Almost.”

Then, Yang’s face suddenly breaks into a blush, and Blake quirks an eyebrow.

“What is it?” she asks curiously, peering over at the phone. With a nervous laugh, Yang shows her.

It’s a text from Weiss.

_Slut_ , the text reads. Yang clicks on the attached image. Seeing what it is, Blake groans and buries her face in her hands.

It must’ve been taken at the party last night. She and Yang are sitting on the ground, in front of the playground. Blake is straddling Yang’s lap, and their faces obscured by the way they’re making out with each other, though there’s a clear shot of Blake’s hands dipping down onto Yang’s ass.

In the corner of the photo is exactly one half of Weiss’s face, staring absolutely deadpan at the camera.

“I guess we weren’t really discreet, huh?” Blake says, biting back a smile. Yang shrugs, sending a quick text back. Blake reads over her shoulder.

_a_ gay _slut ;)_ it reads, making Blake roll her eyes in amusement. Grinning, Yang sets her phone back on the nightstand, then flops back into bed. Blake immediately snuggles up to her.

“It could’ve been worse,” Yang says decisively. “We could’ve been doing that in the living room, in front of everyone.”

“True,” Blake agrees, resting her head on her shoulder. “And it’s not like anyone else was on the playground. Just Weiss, apparently.”

“Spying on us,” Yang tsks. “And then she has the _nerve_ to send us _that_.”

Blake can’t help it anymore; she bursts into laughter. At that, Yang’s face crinkles up with a smile. She turns her head, planting a quick kiss on Blake’s nose.

“I love your laugh,” she murmurs. Blake’s ears shoot up, and can feel a blush grow.

“Uh…” she says, and Yang’s ensuing laugh sounds a little more hesitant.

“Shit, that came out sappy, didn’t it?” she asks, wincing. “Sorry. I’m a little stupid in the mornings.”

“You’re not stupid,” Blake chides. She lifts a hand, cupping Yang’s cheek. “It was… a very nice thing to say.”

Gaze softening again, Yang does the same to Blake, resting her palm on her cheek. “God, there’s so many other things, too. That I like about you.”

“And you,” Blake says quietly, thumbing her cheek. When Yang smiles, her thumb brushes over her dimple. “There’s… so much I like about you, too.”

Yang closes the gap between them, kissing Blake lightly. Blake closes her eyes, giving herself into the tenderness of the moment, letting herself live in it, in that sweet freefall.

“I… thought you might not have been interested in me like that,” Yang admits when they break apart. She smiles sheepishly. “Since you never wanted to go out with us, or come over, or even hang out with us after rehearsals. I figured you just… weren’t really interested. Or ready, or something.”

“Oh!” Blake’s eyebrows shoot up, and she gives Yang an awkward smile of her own. “I did want to go out with you guys. Every time. But I really _do_ work that much, and our schedules just never meshed, so…” She shrugs, and Yang grimaces. “I had to switch shifts at the last minute in order to get the night off for the party, actually.”

“That sounds awful. You work _every_ night?!”

“Most nights,” Blake replies, making a face. “I have to work tonight, too.”

“Jesus.” Yang stares at her, disbelieving. “I get that rent here is shitty, and that ensemble pay is pretty bad… but _that_ bad?”

“Well…” Blake hesitates. She doesn’t want pity, but she also doesn’t want to completely _lie_ to Yang. After the night before, it feels like they’ve crossed some sort of line, jumped over a hurdle between them. The door in Blake’s wall has cracked open a fraction; strangely enough, she doesn’t want to slam it shut all over again. “When I left the White Fang… I basically had to start from scratch. With _everything_.”

“Everything?”

“Like… finding a place to live, and all that. Since I left my ex’s... I had to start over. Completely.” It’s so strange, saying these words, and it takes her a moment to realize that it only feels strange because she hasn’t spoken them out loud before. She’d done her best to not even acknowledge it. It would only have weighed her down, and there would have been no way to keep herself afloat if she’d let herself say it. She closes her eyes, hoping it doesn’t drown her now.

Yang’s thumb, stroking along the skin of Blake’s waist, is feather-light. “I didn’t know it was that bad,” she says softly.

“It’s not, like… _bad_ ,” Blake says quickly, eyes opening again. “It just… takes some getting used to. While I figure things out.”

A bit of an understatement, but that’s how things have to stay. She already sees the concern in Yang’s eyes, and she wants to snuff that out before it grows.

“It’s just like my early-ballet days, all over again,” she says, imbuing a bit of lightheartedness into her words. “The waitressing really takes me back.”

“God, I can’t imagine waitressing after those rehearsals,” Yang replies, groaning. She slumps back into the pillow. “At least, as much as you do. I waitressed for a little while, but I always had the safety net of being able to go back to Dad’s whenever I wanted. Plus, I already had a pretty good place with the SMC, so I was never desperate.” Her lips twitch into a weak smile. “I guess I was lucky.”

“I won’t hold it against you,” Blake teases. Yang laughs. She pushes herself up in bed a little, wiggling upward onto the pillows. Blake scoots closer, adjusting her body so that her head is laying on Yang’s lap. She curls her legs up, sighing as Yang strokes her hair.

“What you did was pretty brave, y’know,” Yang says after a moment, a little more seriously. “Leaving all of that behind you. Your ex, the ballet… your whole life, really. And just… starting over like that.” A pause. “It was brave.”

Blake can’t look up at Yang. She bites her lip, trying to keep herself from _feeling_ Yang’s words too intensely. If she does, she has a feeling she’d cry.

“I couldn’t stay there,” Blake finds herself saying, the words slipping from her lips before she has a chance to filter them. “I couldn’t _dance_ there. I… I _needed_ to leave.”

“I’m so sorry,” Yang murmurs. Her hand runs soothingly down Blake’s hair, to between her shoulder blades, its pressure comforting.

“It’s okay.” Blake takes a deep breath, then looks back up. “As stressful as it is… I’m free now. And… I really do like it here. I love the aerials, I love the kind of dancing we do. And the people are wonderful, and you…”

She trails off, unsure of what to say. She doesn’t want to be overly emotional, or too cheesy, but she can’t think of how to sum up what she’s feeling in a single sentence. There’s too much about Yang that she likes-- the comfort in taking lessons with her, the ease of her personality, her humor, her openness, her grounding presence, and now, apparently, the sex. There’s so _much_ she likes about Yang, and she doesn’t know how to express that in a few words.

Where is she even supposed to begin?

So, she doesn’t. Instead, she pushes herself up from Yang’s lap, getting onto her knees. She cups Yang’s face in her hands, leaning over the short distance to kiss her again. Yang sets a hand at the small of her back, encouraging the contact, their bodies pressing together as they deepen the kiss.

And with kisses like this, Blake thinks with amusement, she doesn’t need to use words at all.

\--

“I think it’s sweet!” Ruby announces at the beginning of the next rehearsal. Weiss rolls her eyes, while Yang and Blake can only laugh. It’s nice, to sit so close to Yang without self-conscious fear. It’s nice, to be out of that agonizing limbo. It’s nice, to lean against her and feel Yang’s arm around her waist.

All of it is just _nice_.

“You saw the picture,” Weiss reminds Ruby, glowering. “That wasn’t sweet. That was _shameless_.”

“We all do stupid things when we’re drunk,” Ruby says, giving Weiss a poke in the side. “Remember that time before you got together with Pyrrha, when--”

“There’s a difference between _shameless_ and _not thinking anyone was spying on them through a window_ ,” Weiss says, glaring pointedly at Ruby and Yang in turn. Both of them burst out laughing, perfectly illustrating Weiss’s definition of _shameless_.

“Sounds like a good story,” Blake remarks innocently. Weiss’s glare lands squarely on Blake.

“Don’t test me, Belladonna,” Weiss warns, which makes the other three break out in another round of laughter. At this, even Weiss surprises them with a grudging smile.

“Places, everyone!” Robyn calls, bursting dramatically through one of the arena entrances. “We’re gonna take it from the top!” She looks around the room, pausing on Blake and Yang. Her eyes narrow. “And I will not accept _homosexuality_ as an excuse for being late, Xiao Long.”

“Ouch,” Yang says, wincing, then calls out, “Like _you’re_ one to talk, Hill!”

“I don’t need to,” Robyn replies lazily, waving her hand to usher them all forward. “ _I’m_ the one in charge of this act.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yang rolls her eyes.

“So how many people know?” Blake asks in a low voice, and Yang lets out a sheepish laugh.

“Everyone, probably,” Ruby says cheerfully. “Even if everyone didn’t _see_ you practically eating each other’s faces at the party, they definitely heard about it.”

“Word travels fast around here,” Yang agrees. She slinks a hand around Blake’s waist, her body still vibrating with amusement. It’s instinct now that makes Blake press in closer.

“I guess we should hit the stage, then,” she says with a sigh. “Prove that we’re not as sloppy as they think we are.”

“That ship’s _long_ since sailed,” Weiss mutters.

Yang looks down at Blake, gives her a wink, and together, they all make their way toward the stage.

\--

All in all, not much is really different.

Blake’s routine changes very little. She still goes to the SPAC every day, she still has her lessons with Yang, she still goes to her waitressing shifts. She still goes to bed exhausted every night, her feet swollen from being on them all day.

There’s the ever-growing fear, though, about what will happen with her job when the performances finally start. She won’t be able to pick up any more night shifts when she’s got shows, and getting shifts that fit her exact rehearsal schedule will be tricky. It’s already hard enough to stay on top of her bills as it is, and every night she goes to bed, the worry gnaws at her about what she’ll do if a day comes when she can’t afford to pay for a bed at an airbnb, or even a hostel.

And yet…

She’s still able to find joy in her life, with her newfound freedom high in the air, in her friends at the circus. Even with the cage of responsibilities, there’s still so much _potential_ in her life, and she tries to keep that in her line of sight while her fears haunt her periphery.

It helps, too, that she’s free to meet up with Yang during the day, to touch her without regret, to sneak in kisses during breaks. While Blake _had_ been feeling satisfied before with her decision to leave the White Fang, being with Yang fills her with a new sense of peace she’d never imagined experiencing before.

Even with her usual stresses, life still feels so much lighter than it ever did at the ballet.

“You’re looking good!” Yang says, watching Blake loop the silks around herself. Blake is getting good enough now that she can perform simple dances set to music, and even though she knows how basic those routines are, she feels a strong sense of accomplishment when she masters them.

Silks in place, Blake sets herself into motion, letting herself fall gracefully, the fabric unravelling around her. She doesn’t drop far, but when she does, she’s upside down. She extends her legs in a straddle, and even upside down, she can see the pleased smile on Yang’s face.

“Beautiful,” she says as Blake brings herself up. She slides down the silks, landing steadily on the mat. She’s good at this part now, landing without losing her balance.

And this is another reason why things feel even better now: there’s nothing to stop her from stepping right up to Yang, to trail a hand along her waist and kiss her.

So that’s exactly what she does.

“I’ve been thinking,” Yang says, smiling, their lips still practically touching.

“Have you?”

“Mhm.” Yang kisses her again, their proximity apparently too tempting. “I was thinking… that maybe we should try out partner work.”

“Partner work?” Blake blushes before realization dawns. “ _Oh_. You mean on the silks.”

Yang bursts into laughter, staggering backward with the force of it while Blake’s face continues to darken with embarrassment.

“I’m not sure what _you’re_ thinking of that we’re not already doing,” Yang says when she’s recovered, giving Blake a wink that finally elicits laughter from her. “But, yeah. I was thinking we could start trying out some basic duet skills. Nothing crazy, but… you’re getting _good_.”

Now Blake’s blush means something else entirely. Yang’s always been free with her praise, but once in a while, it’s full of true _depth_ : it’s like she can look into the future, and see exactly what Blake is capable of. What _they’re_ capable of, together.

It’s a future Blake is desperate to see for herself.

“Good enough for a duet?” Blake asks, looking up at the silks. Despite watching countless couples’ aerial dances on youtube, she had no idea where anyone begins to learn those skills. All Blake could see was that it involved a lot of coordination, a lot of teamwork… and a lot of trust.

“We can at least try out the basics,” Yang replies, taking a hold of the silks. She hands one of the two strands to Blake, eyes alight.

“Now?”

“Now.”

Hesitantly, Blake takes it. Yang jumps up, grabbing a hold of the silks over her head. She wraps her foot in the fabric, and starts to climb. With each of them on each side of the silks, they’ll be connected, close.

It’s one thing to hold herself accountable on the silks, but another thing completely to put her trust in another person. This isn’t like the trapeze, where she had a harness and a net; here, if she falls, landing on the mat would still hurt.

Then again… Yang hadn’t let her fall before. She knows what she’s doing when she’s on the silks.

She won’t let Blake fall now.

\--

Now that the _Legends from Olympus_ show is over, everyone is in high-gear for the next show, _Grá Síoraí_. Blake really only has to be there for the dances she’s in (which aren’t many, but this doesn’t surprise her; the spotlight doesn’t belong to her here), but she likes to watch the other performances between her own rehearsals.

Weiss takes to the high wire, moving with poise and precision, in perfect sync with the others on it with her. Blake is fascinated by their use of props; in this particular act, they’re using jump ropes while _on_ the wire, hopping as naturally as they would on the ground. She was nervous the first time she saw one of the performers trip, and grab onto the wire seemingly at the last minute. But it was all a part of the act, and Fiona dramatically swung herself back up onto the wire. They make it look so _easy_ , and Blake doesn’t think she’ll ever get sick of watching it unfold.

The trapeze acts are just as astounding to watch. Ruby and Yang fly through the air, somersaulting, piggybacking, catching each other with their hands and legs. Ruby flips through the air over and over, so much that Blake fears that she’ll miss landing within Yang’s grasp. That maybe, just this time, Ruby will miss, and fly too far and just out of Yang’s reach. But, Yang always catches her, every time, without fail.

The one act Blake makes sure she never misses, however, is the aerial dancing.

Blake sits in the front row, staring with wide eyes as Yang takes to the air. It’s one thing watching her dance in the studio, guiding Blake through the motions of duo skills, the environment controlled. But on the main stage, there’s nothing holding Yang back.

Yang climbs into the air, both dramatic in her display, yet somehow still casual as she knots herself into the silks. She rises high and fast, swooping through the air, the purple silks fanning around her as she rolls and drops. Even when Blake’s seen this dance many times, in various stages of development, it never ceases to send a flare of heat through her body. She wishes she could step onto the stage and climb up the silks herself, to pull herself up Yang’s body and kiss her hard.

Someday, she tells herself, she _will_ make that happen.

Practices with Yang are continuing to go well, after all. Having another person on the silks with her gives a new perspective to the things she can do in the air, opens up new possibilities. She lets Yang hold her by the hands, dangling her freely over the floor. Soon, she’ll work on treating Yang as an extension of the silks, to climb up her body, to twist around her, to hang her whole body between Yang and the silks.

She sees their reflection in the mirror, Yang hanging upside-down, knees entwined with the silks, muscles taut as she bears Blake’s weight. Much of the couples work they’ve done so far is pretty individual, with Yang on one side and Blake on the other, simply testing each other’s weight and feeling the way the fabric gives, moving in sync with each other. But Yang also gives Blake a chance to practice using Yang’s body, too, to get used to actually dancing _together_.

“Ready?” Yang grunts, letting Blake swing.

“Yeah.”

Dangling where she is, it’s not a long drop, and Blake lands squarely on the mat. Yang takes an extra moment to untangle herself from the silks, pulling herself free easily before sliding back down.

“What d’you think?” Blake asks, taking a sip of water. Yang lets out a breathless laugh, and when Blake offers her the water bottle she takes it.

“You ask that every time,” Yang replies, taking a sip. “And my mind hasn’t changed. You’re doing _well_.”

“I’m not asking if I’m doing _well_ ,” Blake says, folding her arms. “I’m asking if you think I’ll be a good _partner_ for this.”

“And, like I said, my mind hasn’t changed.” Smiling, Yang sets a hand on Blake’s waist. “From what I can see, you’re going to be a _great_ partner.” She pauses. “And you already are.”

“Maybe I just like to hear it,” Blake replies sweetly. Yang snorts, and pulls her closer.

“You know you don’t have to beg to hear that,” she reminds her. She tips her head in, brushing her nose against Blake’s.

“I thought you like it when I beg.”

“Well, that, too.” Yang laughs, and presses a kiss to her lips. “Though, speaking of begging… do you wanna come over tonight?”

Blake’s heart rises at the question, then falls. It’s so hard to get nights off with Yang and, like most nights, she’s locked herself into another shift. In the two weeks since the party, she’s only been able to spend the night at Yang’s three times-- nowhere near as much as she would like, but also as much as she’s reasonably able to.

“I wish I could,” Blake says, sighing, “but--”

“You have to work,” Yang finishes for her, expression falling in disappointment. She probably expected this answer. “Damn.”

“Sorry, it’s just--”

“I know,” Yang replies, resigned. Then, she brightens. “Though, if you _do_ find out when you next have a night off… let me know, and I’ll clear out my schedule. Hell, maybe I can even kick Ruby and Weiss out of the apartment.”

“Like that would work. Didn’t Weiss just tell us that it’s _her apartment, too_?”

“Well, yeah. But I can bribe them. Or bully them.”

“Ah, yes, the two B’s. Bribe and bully.” Blake chuckles, elbowing Yang. “Y’know, we don’t need the _whole_ apartment. We can just make do with the bedroom.”

“That’s a good idea, too,” Yang says, gives her another kiss, and then a mischievous grin. “Though, by the time we’re done, she’ll be _wishing_ she’d gone somewhere else for the night.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. Although…” Yang’s expression turns thoughtful. “If you _do_ manage to get a full night off… we should really take advantage of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for starters…” Yang’s thumb drags across Blake’s chin, looking at her like she’s wishing it were her lips instead of her thumb. “I’d like to take you out sometime. On a proper date.”

“Oh?” Blake asks, interested. “A _proper_ date? What do you consider _proper_?”

“Something _other_ than Netflix on the couch,” Yang replies, starting to laugh.

“But we _like_ Netflix on the couch.” They’re both giggling now, as they kiss again, keeping it soft and chaste; as much as they’d like to stall in the dance studio all day and kiss, they really _will_ need to focus on the lesson again. Soon.

But not yet.

“I’m just saying,” Yang adds, a little more seriously. “I feel like I haven’t gotten a chance to romance you enough.”

“You romance me plenty,” Blake replies, setting a hand on Yang’s side, hoping the touch could convey her own gratitude for the offer. “Really, everything you do… it’s more than I could ever ask for. You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

“It’s not about proving anything,” Yang says gently. “I _want_ to show you a good time. And… I dunno. Just break out of the routine a little. Have a little excitement, or something.”

“I like the routine,” Blake says, smiling. She gives Yang another peck on the lips, lets her smile curl with a little more meaning. “Although… there’s nothing to stop us from having a little excitement in our everyday lives, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Like, I was thinking…” Blake bites the inside of her lip, feeling a slight flush, a mixture of embarrassment and eagerness. “The silks, for example.”

“What about them?”

“Hypothetically speaking… you could use them in _creative_ ways, couldn’t you? _Exciting_ ways?”

Yang’s cheeks light up in a delightful shade of pink. “Well…”

“Not that I’m saying we _have_ to use them like that,” Blake adds hastily, still smiling. “But… it’s just an example. Of spicing up our routines, even if we don’t have the time to go, like, bungee-jumping, or whatever other things you were thinking about.”

“ _Bungee-jumping_?” Yang repeats, breaking into a laugh. “Is _that_ what you want to do for a date?”

“It seems like your style!” Blake replies, though she’s laughing now, too. “The silks aren’t _too_ far off from bungee-jumping.”

“I figured we’d start with, like, going to a museum or a zoo or something first. Save the bungee-jumping for the second date.”

“A museum date does sound nice,” Blake admits. She pauses, then grimaces. “If I ever have free time again.”

“Well, we can always plan for the future.” Yang sets a hand on Blake’s arm and gives it a squeeze. Then, she winks. “And in the meantime… I _do_ like your idea. Spicing up the routine, anyway.”

“Then _that_ ,” Blake says, “is a date.”

They’re laughing as they kiss again, and again. Blake’s arms encircle Yang’s back, pulling herself close. Not _too_ close, of course; that would be too tempting. But this is enough.

Simply kissing her is always enough.

They pull away regretfully, but it’s probably for the best. This _is_ a lesson, after all, and they need to have _something_ to show for it.

And their return to the lesson isn’t a moment too soon. Yang’s just made it to the top of the silks when there’s a knock at the door. Eyebrow raised, Blake looks over. The door opens, and Dr. Ozpin takes a step inside.

“Still practicing?” he asks, clicking the door shut behind him.

“Always,” Yang says lazily, looping the fabric around her knees. She falls backward, letting herself hang by her legs as she looks at Dr. Ozpin upside-down. “What brings you down here?”

“Just interested in seeing the progress,” he replies pleasantly. “How is circus life treating you, Miss Belladonna?”

“Oh! It’s… uh…” Blake glances upward automatically, sees Yang’s grin. “It’s… very good.”

“I see.” It’s hard to read anything in Dr. Ozpin’s tone, but Blake still feels herself blush. Does he know about them? Had he just seen them kissing through the two-way mirror? Her heart nearly drops to her stomach when he adds, “I hear you’ve started couples’ work.”

Blake tenses, then realizes what he means. She can hear Yang snickering, and has to resist the temptation to turn around and shush her. 

“Yeah,” she replies, as casually as she can. He gives a short nod of his head.

“Good, good,” he replied, tone bland. “I must admit, I do look in from time to time on your lessons. Your progress is quite remarkable.”

“Oh!” God, if he’d been doing that, he’d _have_ to have seen some careless kissing. She tries to not let her embarrassment show, and hopes her nonchalance is convincing. “Well, thank you.”

“It also has me thinking,” Dr. Ozpin goes on; from his bland demeanor, maybe he really _doesn’t_ know. Or care. “I’ve started thinking about the next show. Or, rather, the sorts of acts I’d like to put in it.”

“Yeah?” Yang perks up, maneuvering her legs and arms to pull herself back upright. Fully untangled, she lets herself simply drop, landing in a crouch on the mat. “It’s going to be about fairy tales, right?”

“Correct.” He inclines his head, then cuts right to the chase: “I’d like to know if you believe Miss Belladonna would be capable of an aerial performance for it.”

“What?” Blake asks, eyes going wide. The question seems to catch Yang off-guard, as well, for her eyebrows shoot up.

“You want… Blake on the silks? For the next show?” she asks, surprised.

“Not just her,” he amends, “but you, as well. A duet.”

“A duet,” Yang muses, twining her wrists in the silks and leaning back. “With Blake.”

“It wouldn’t need to be anything too fancy, or elaborate,” Dr. Ozpin goes on, his thumb circling the top of his cane idly. “The tale itself is beautiful in its simplicity, and I believe that even someone as green as Miss Belladonna could make the story compelling.”

“Which story?” Blake asks, curious.

She doesn’t imagine it; Dr. Ozpin _is_ smiling now.

“ _The Girl in the Tower_ ,” he says.

It takes Blake a minute to understand what he’s asking.

“Wait,” she says, finally comprehending. Shock clouds her brain as the implications sink in. “You want… me and Yang. To perform _Girl in the Tower_?”

“Well, yes,” he replies mildly. Then, he chuckles. “It’s a tale that’s near and dear to my heart. In fact, it was the inspiration in naming this building. The _Salem Performing Arts Center_.”

“I didn’t realize there was a real connection with the building name,” Blake remarks, trying to keep her mind from flashing back to the last time she performed _The Girl in the Tower_ ; it’s hard not to see Adam, dressed in the familiar greens of the warrior Ozma. “I figured it was just a coincidence.”

“It’s no coincidence,” Dr. Ozpin replies, strange soberness creeping into his tone. But then he shakes his head, dismissing it. “But that’s a long, complicated story. I’m more concerned about the one that the two of you could tell.”

“Blake’s last show just put the story back in your head, didn’t it, Oz?” Yang says teasingly. “ _That’s_ the real reason you want us to do it.”

“You do realize I’ve had this year’s shows planned far in advance,” Dr. Ozpin reminds her. “Though I’ll admit, the timing is serendipitous.” He nods in Blake’s direction. “You were a magnificent Salem, and that’s exactly the kind of energy I’d like in the upcoming show.”

“So you want me to be Salem again,” Blake says, still disbelieving.

“Correct.”

“So I’d be Ozma,” Yang remarks, looking back up at the silks thoughtfully. There’s a distant look in her eyes, like she’s already imagining what such a dance would look like, and planning it all out in her head. “Yeah, that’s doable.”

Blake waits, expecting one of them to say _gotcha_ , or for one of them to laugh, or admit it’s all a joke. Surely she isn’t ready for a performance like this.

But neither of them laugh.

“You really think I can do it?” she asks, looking from Yang to Dr. Ozpin. His expression is unchanging, and he neither nods nor shakes his head.

“If I thought you incapable,” he replies simply, “I wouldn’t have suggested it.”

Blake blinks, and she can only stare at him as he turns away from them, departing just as abruptly as he’d arrived. The door clicks shut behind him, and while Blake is still processing, Yang sighs.

“He’s not very good at conversation, is he?” she remarks, climbing back up the silks.

“Yeah…” Blake looks up, giving Yang a strained smile. “I’m surprised he’s been paying such close attention to us, though.”

“Are you kidding?” Yang twines her legs in the silks, holding herself in place so she can shrug. “He knows _everything_ about what people do around here. It’s his life’s work, keeping on top of everything.”

“Jesus,” Blake mutters, looking self-consciously at the two-way mirror. Is Dr. Ozpin looking in on them now? “I guess the circus really is his life, huh?”

“Basically,” Yang says. She beckons at Blake, a silent request for her to join her in the air. “He lives and _breathes_ this place.” She snorts, shaking her head as Blake takes a hold of the silks. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he lived here, and kept an air mattress under his desk or something.”

Blake rolls her eyes good-naturedly as she pushes herself into the air. Then, she blinks, struck with a sudden idea.

“Blake?” Yang asks, seeing her sudden halt.

“Sorry,” she replies quickly, finally reaching Yang’s height, pretending like nothing’s amiss. She even smiles, wrapping the silks into position around her hips and legs. “Well, let’s show him what we’re worth.”

“Yeah,” Yang says, looking smug, not noticing the faraway look in Blake’s eyes.

_...wouldn’t be surprised if he lived here_ , she had said. 

Well, the SPAC _does_ have plenty of space. Plenty of mats to sleep on, and even showers for performers to use. And, most importantly, it would be free.

Maybe Yang had been onto something...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, another NSFW warning!

“ _What makes us human?_ ” Dr. Ozpin’s voice blares over the loudspeaker. Blake stands with the other dancers on stage, ready for the music to begin. “ _What holds us all together? Is it our conscious thoughts? Our beliefs? Our souls?_ ” He pauses, then goes on, almost conversationally. “ _But then, what are humans without companionship? In a world that places such great value on individuality and independence, it may be easy to forget the importance of_ connection _. That the essence of man isn’t contained just in each singular, selfish brain, but is instead stretched among a network of many. It is these vast connections with others that can surpass physical, superficial limitations and project our auras into the universe. It is in our relationships with others that our simple selves become whole, and truly gain their meaning._

“ _It is in humanity’s capacity to_ love _that we can explore what, exactly, it means to be alive. This show is a celebration of eternal, human connection. Of friendship. Kinship. And_ love _._

“ _Welcome… to Grá Síoraí_.”

This is the first time Blake has heard the full version of the opening monologue. Dr. Ozpin kept claiming he hadn’t finished writing it yet, and he usually filled in the beginning of each dress rehearsal with a dull “Blah, blah, blah” into the microphone, much to the chagrin of the directors. Blake, then, is surprised by the impact of these words, and unconsciously looks over toward Yang’s circle, though she can’t see her tall figure in the darkness.

She’s not sure _why_ hearing the introduction to _Grá Síoraí_ makes her look in that direction. She’s only been dating Yang for a few weeks, and they’re far from any kind of definition of _love_ \-- even calling Yang her _girlfriend_ (itself such a new development) feels strange. Still, something about the phrase resonates deeply in Blake, though she can't identify the reason.

When the lights come up and the music starts, she’s still looking toward Yang.

The dance now is leagues away from where it started, with everyone more comfortable in its flow and its space. Blake moves perfectly with the other dancers, the steps now simple and easy to her. She’s taken Weiss’s advice, and lets her body flow more naturally, with less precision but more passion and power. She’s not a ballerina anymore; it’s shaped the person she’s become, yes, but now she’s so much different. She’s so much _more_.

They all stop, and as one, all the dancers rise on their toes in relevé. Blake reaches inward, toward the inner circle. Like always, it’s Yang there, reaching their hands toward her, their fingertips brushing.

They smile at each other, but allow themselves no more.

There’s a show to perform.

\--

There’s a show. And a show. And a show.

Blake is used to the routine of constant shows, and rehearsals, and lessons. This has been her life since she joined the White Fang Ballet all those years ago; she likes staying busy, likes being constantly on the move. This is the kind of environment she thrives in, where she bounces from commitment to commitment without time to think, or dwell on her own fears.

Still, those fears usually catch up to her anyway.

Today, that fear finds her in the green room between acts. She’s scouring airbnb, hoping against all hope she can find a last-minute deal for a room. While the Salem Performing Arts Center is good for keeping a roof over her head, she hadn’t counted on it being so stressful. Her first night sleeping in the musty old storage room had been a long one. Having to sleep on an old floor mat, with no pillow and only a cheap blanket she’d bought at Walmart, was uncomfortable enough in itself. But she also kept waking up every hour, fearing that someone would walk in on her and either call the police, or, at the very least, get her into trouble with Dr. Ozpin.

It was getting harder to cover up the dark circles under her eyes with makeup, and put on her usual stage smile for everyone else’s sake.

“You okay?” Yang asks, spotting Blake after her act. Her costume is elaborate, with feathers and sequins that she’s often complained about being itchy, but in Blake’s eyes, she’s as beautiful as ever. She strides over to where Blake is scowling at her phone screen, raising an eyebrow and trying to peer over. Quickly, Blake puts her phone to sleep, and manages a smile for Yang’s benefit.

“Yeah,” Blake says, keeping her tone light. “How was the dance?”

“Oh, it was good! Same as always.” Yang takes a seat on the couch next to Blake, tucking her long legs underneath herself. She smells like chalk and sweat, a scent that, over a matter of weeks, has become so comforting to be around. “You sure you’re okay? You look a little... stressed.”

“I’m good,” Blake reassures her. She leans in for a kiss, and the physical contact alone is enough to make her heart rate slow down just a little. “Just… thinking about work.”

“Gross,” Yang says, grimacing. She sighs, through an arm over Blake’s shoulders. Blake nuzzles her head closer, and closes your eyes. “Hopefully, soon, _this_ will be the only work you have to worry about. Once you’re off probationary pay, it should be a little easier.”

“Right,” Blake says faintly. But she welcomes Yang’s distraction. Her eyes travel along Yang’s body, taking in the skin-tight fabric and all the hints it gives her. Yang, not oblivious to Blake’s stares, slowly starts to smirk.

“I thought you said this costume was tacky,” she comments. Blake rolls a shoulder, shrugging.

“You pull it off,” she replies simply. Then, she gives Yang a wicked smile. “Or I could.”

“Feisty,” Yang remarks, brushing the flyaways back from Blake’s temples. She lowers her voice. “I think I know a way to help get your mind off work.”

“I have to go back on in like… ten minutes!” Blake says, laughing. “And _you_ still have to change!”

“Well, I mean _after_.” Yang gives her a wink. She pauses, eyes dancing with mischief. “You did say something about how the silks could make for some _exciting_ possibilities, right?”

Blake flushes, eyebrows shooting up. She thought Yang would have forgotten that comment, made a couple weeks ago, but apparently not. Already, her imagination runs wild; just what was Yang planning?

“So, after the show…” Blake says, already feeling heat uncoiling in her stomach, “you have something in mind?”

“A few things, actually.” Yang leans in, gives her a kiss that feels much too innocent to match the thoughts skipping through Blake’s head. She grins. “Call it _stress relief_.”

\--

 _Stress relief_. Blake hasn’t even stepped into the dance studio yet, and she’s already feeling it. Most shows usually end with Blake feeling tired, and she’s always in a rush to get back to the storage room where she sleeps, eager to pass out. But she doesn’t feel tired now; she feels _wired_ , and even her stress from earlier has been tamped down in anticipation of whatever Yang has planned.

She’s still in her costume from the last act; it’s a unitard, like many of the costumes are, with long sleeves and legs, the vivid purples and blues looking almost like scales. It’s designed to dazzle under the stage lights, though now, under the less-overpowering studio lights, all she does is shine a little more brightly than usual. She pulls her hair out of its bun, and shakes it loose.

The sounds of the audience overhead, leaving the arena and the building, get duller and duller every minute Blake waits. She knows there’s just as much chaos backstage, too, with the performers leaving and the crew in a rush to reset the stage so they can call it a night. With the chaos above, the downstairs studios are the quietest areas in the whole building right now. No one comes down to these rooms right after a show.

So it’s perfectly private.

Yang had whispered that they would meet down here after curtain call, where they would be undisturbed. She isn’t here yet. But Blake’s patient; she folds her arms, and simply waits.

And waits.

And waits.

She hears the sound of the door opening, and Blake spins toward the door, a smile breaking out across her face as Yang steps into the room. She’s still in her costume, too, her own unitard a bright crimson. It gleams rather than sparkles, save for the splash of gold that runs along her side, and trails down one leg, making Yang look like the fire she is.

She’s carrying a small bag over her shoulder, and wearing a smirk on her face. Her hair is loose, messy, and already Blake is already thinking about tangling her fingers in those waves, thinking about using it to pull Yang’s tongue closer. A shiver runs down her body, though Yang doesn’t seem to notice. She’s already turning around, and there’s a _click_ as she locks the door.

“Good show,” Yang says casually, looking back over at her. 

“You too,” Blake replies, voice dry. 

Yang’s smile doesn’t waver, and there’s a dangerous glint in her eyes as she goes to the mirror and flips something that looks like a light switch. Blake raises an eyebrow.

“Just to make sure no one’s watching on the other side,” she explains, and Blake understands. She’d almost forgotten that the mirror was two-way, and she’s hit with a wave of relief that she hadn’t started taking her costume off yet. But Yang juts her chin toward the violet silks, which are knotted over the mat. “Now untie the silks.”

It’s an order that could’ve come right out of Yang’s lessons, but Blake hears the undercurrent to it. This isn’t a lesson; it’s a command. From anyone else, Blake would have balked, but with Yang, she nearly trips over herself in a hurry to follow it.

She’s aware of Yang’s eyes on her as she unties them, feels them like a caress on her skin as she unties the silks. She wants more than her eyes; she wants to feel Yang’s hands, too, all over her body, under her costume…

“Get into a double wristlock,” Yang says, still standing where she is by the door, still unmoving.

“In the air?” Blake asks uncertainly. Yang shakes her head.

“Just standing,” Yang says. She walks along the wall mirror, hand running along the barre, until she’s standing directly in front of her, obscuring Blake’s reflection. “Both wrists.”

Blake doesn’t break Yang’s stare as she separates the silks. She crochets her arms through them, just over her head, eyes never leaving Yang’s. She twists her arms, the fabric coming back up over her wrists, locking her in. Yang’s smile widens. Holding that stare, she reaches into her bag, and pulls out something long and silky.

It’s a scarf, the same deep purple as the silks.

Yang strides toward her, knotting the scarf around her fingers lazily as she comes closer. Blake’s eyes finally break away from Yang’s, to stare at the scarf between those long fingers. She shifts her balance slightly, already feeling how wet she is; she wonders briefly how hard the costume is to wash, because she’s probably going to ruin it.

Yang comes to a halt directly in front of her, her breath warm on Blake’s face. Blake could undo the wristlock now if she really wanted to, to pull Yang closer, to kiss her. She resists the urge; whatever Yang does to her will be a hundred times better.

And she’s right. Yang brings up the scarf, wrapping it around Blake’s eyes and tying it off behind her. It’s just thick enough that Blake can’t see, cutting off her sense of sight completely.

Oh, but there’s so many other senses Blake can enjoy.

Yang sets her hands on Blake’s sides, running up and down, sending goosebumps skittering across her body. They press against the limits of Blake’s bodysuit, and she wishes she’d had the sense to take it off before locking her wrists. While she’s grateful for the thinness of the material, and its tightness, it becomes very quickly apparent that it’s going to drive her crazy.

Blake feels like a featureless mannequin, with all the nerves and needs of a fully-fleshed person. Yang’s hands smooth over her stomach, her breasts, hard enough to tease, but the tight material keeps Yang’s hands away from touching the places she _wants_ her to. But she feels the touch along her arms, and back down. Yang’s body presses closer to hers, and Blake breathes in, and shudders, while Yang’s hands make their way down her back, her ass.

They circle back around Blake’s front, low on her hips. One slips between her legs, and Blake tries to angle herself toward it.

“You should take my costume off,” Blake pants, grinding desperately against Yang’s hand. Yang rubs back, only hard enough to tease.

“I think I’ll wait,” Yang replies, her voice low. “Until you’re dripping through your costume.”

“Coco will kill you,” Blake whines, writhing. “If you ruin my costume.”

“No she won’t.” Yang leans in, nips at Blake’s ear. “She won’t even notice, because I’ll have everything washed in time for the show tomorrow night.”

For emphasis, Yang’s leg slides between Blake’s. With a groan, Blake presses herself against it.

“I’ve gotten pretty good at taking care of costumes on my own,” Yang adds, sounding smug.

“I can’t-- imagine why,” Blake pants, _knowing_ that Yang has to feel how wet she is. She’s pulling at her restraints, trying to meet their limit, but Yang only keeps her leg where it is, rocking gently to encourage Blake’s frenzy. “God, Yang, _fuck_ me already.”

But, to her frustration, Yang pulls her leg _away_. Blake feels herself throb, desperate for everything Yang’s denying her. Her arms and knees tremble, and she shifts, trying to find where Yang might’ve disappeared to. She strains her ears, trying to listen for Yang’s breathing.

“Yang, come _on_ ,” she whines, and for a moment, she strongly considers untying herself and just ripping the blindfold off. Her chest heaves, and she whips her head around, craning her neck to try and get just a hint of sound. A breath, a footstep. _Anything_.

Then, she almost _squeals_ as arms wrap around her waist from behind. She sags into the contact, just grateful to feel Yang’s hands on her body again, sliding up her abdomen, cupping her breasts, and back down again. Still, all Yang’s doing is _teasing_ her, and Blake moans, desperation washing over her until there’s nothing left.

Yang rubs her again, more insistently than before. Blake’s body rolls against her hand helplessly-- she has to be soaked through already, her wetness probably coating Yang’s fingertips-- and she can feel herself building up, higher and higher, her mind flashing a blinding white as she’s so _close_ \--

She gasps, her whole body shaking, nearly buckling over her own weight. If she wasn’t secured in the wristlock, she might’ve collapsed completely, but she’s still standing shakily. Yang combs Blake’s hair away from her neck, kissing it, and even though it’s hard to feel anything beyond the pulsing of her own body, she can sense Yang is playing with her zipper.

“Oh, so _now_ you’re taking it off,” Blake mutters, still panting. Yang snorts, and she hears the soft zip as Yang slides it down her back.

“It’s served its purpose,” Yang replies simply. Cool air meets the flushed skin of Blake’s back, sending goosebumps racing down. “But it’ll just get in the way from here on out.”

“I see,” Blake says, shivering as she feels Yang’s lips on her spine, chasing after the zipper. “And it wasn’t before?”

“Not for me.” Yang’s kisses are wet, and already, Blake is feeling the desperation again, to pull off the rest of the costume and let Yang leave those wet kisses _everywhere_.

But then she feels Yang loosen the hold around her left wrist, and Blake lets her pull the sleeve over her shoulder, down her arm and off. She doesn’t wear a bra when she dances, leaving her partially exposed now, and Blake is painfully aware of every breath she takes. Then, Yang carefully replaces the silks back around Blake’s arm, letting Blake knot it right back into a new wristlock. They repeat the process on her other arm, leaving the costume hanging off Blake’s hips.

At first, Blake worries that Yang would leave her like this at first, teasing her with the costume still on her legs, but Yang seems to be done with the torture; she slides the rest of the costume down Blake’s legs, pulling it off completely. For a moment, Blake hangs there, listening to Yang take the costume elsewhere, maybe letting it hang on the barre instead of crumpling it on the floor.

But she doesn’t wait long, for in an instant, Yang’s hands, Yang’s lips, are all over her skin again. Blake’s sighs sound like whimpers, silenced only when Yang sets her hands back on her waist, and kisses her lips, both deep and sensual. This close, she can feel that Yang’s taken off her costume, too, when she feels the heat of bare skin on her own.

Yang’s hands slide down her ass, to the back of her thighs, and Blake realizes then that since she’s in a wristlock, she might as well use it; she pulls herself off the floor, wrapping her legs around Yang’s waist, and with the newfound slack in the silks, she’s finally able to dig her hands into Yang’s hair, just like she’s wanted to all along, combing through its softness with her fingers.

“This is cheating,” Yang whispers between kisses, though she still keeps a hold of Blake’s legs. Blake smiles.

“Just using what I’ve got,” she replies, giving into the kiss twice as hard.

Without her sight, it’s like time is at a standstill, and Blake has no idea how long they spend like that, simply kissing, and touching. Still restrained, Blake can’t touch much more than Yang’s hair; then again, Blake doesn’t think she’ll ever get sick of the way it feels in her hand, the way it flows through her fingers like molten gold. Even if she can’t see it, she can _picture_ it, so perfectly, that she doesn’t even really _need_ to see.

At some point, though, Blake pulls back on her wrists, uncurling her legs from around Yang’s body. At the same time, she can sense Yang shift, sinking to her knees, arms wrapping around Blake’s legs. Blake moans before she even feels Yang’s lips kissing her thigh, her legs spreading automatically. She puts weight right back into her wrists, pulling herself off the ground and letting Yang guide them over her shoulders.

It’s not a _comfortable_ position, but when Blake leans back and balances her weight between the silks and Yang, it’s almost like she’s lying down. She bucks against Yang’s mouth, rocking back and forth, and her moans turn uncontrolled as Yang sucks her clit, fingers pumping steadily inside her.

When Blake cums again, her whole body convulses, Yang’s name coming out with every breath. She feels like she’s swinging, weightless; or maybe she _is_ both of those things, strung up in the silks as she is, feeling only the air on her body and Yang’s tongue on her cunt. And the silks around her wrists, of course, but Blake doesn’t even feel those anymore.

They’re a part of her now, just as much as any limb, and for all they restrain her, they also give her more than Blake’s ever had before.

Blake is still panting when Yang sets her legs back on the mat, and they’re shaking even more than they were before. She can’t remember having an orgasm quite like that before, and it fills her with a warm, overwhelming feeling that Blake isn’t sure what to do with. She pauses, trying to catch her breath, as she unlocks her wrists.

“Blake?” Yang asks, sounding both surprised and a little concerned. But Blake pulls off her blindfold, squinting against the light. She smiles at Yang, and lets herself fall into her.

“I’m good,” she says, enmeshing her limbs with Yang’s, pressing their bodies together once more. “ _Very_ good.”

“Sick of the silks?” Yang asks, her tone mild. Possibly teasing, possibly serious.

“Definitely not,” Blake says firmly. “But… I did want to _see_ you for a minute. And give my arms a bit of a break.”

Yang chuckles, her own arms circling around Blake. “Those are both very fair reasons.”

“Mm.” Blake smiles as they kiss. Her lips feel swollen with overuse, but she just can’t resist the temptation when Yang is right in front of her. But she manages to keep it light; she has other plans for her lips. “Besides,” she tells Yang innocently. “Maybe _you_ should give it a try. Show me what _you_ can do, Yang.”

“That…” Yang pauses, grinning. “Sounds like a _very_ good idea.”

And, god, it _is_. Yang wraps the silks around her arms, using them to hold herself up over Blake’s mouth. She lets out low, hungry moans as Blake eats her out, the ends of the fabric shuddering beside Blake’s head as Yang quivers.

“Blake, _fuck_ ,” she hisses. Blake’s hands slide up along her thighs, using the leverage to pull herself up as much as she can, getting _closer_. “ _Blake_.”

“Yang,” Blake murmurs, and whether it was from the vibration of her voice, or breath against Yang’s clit, or just the sound of her voice, that’s the last push Yang seemed to need. Her hands clench in the silks, her whole body going rigid as she hits that peak.

Blake has to look up to watch, spellbound by the angle and the colors and the perfect way Yang tips her head back and moans. This is something no audience will ever get to see; this moment belongs only to her.

To _them_.

But it’s not long before it’s Blake tangled in the silks again, arms knotted in the fabric. The blindfold is wrapped around her eyes again, too, which surprises her. She hadn’t thought Yang had anything else up her sleeve, but she was wrong.

Very, delightfully wrong.

She feels Yang step in front of her again, ostensibly to kiss her, but instead, Blake feels something hard, and cool, press against her stomach. 

“Fuck,” she hisses. She wraps a leg around Yang’s, dragging it upward, trying to pull her closer. She feels the huffs of Yang’s laughter in the kisses on her neck, and the shift of Yang’s arm as it slides it under her knee. “Yang, _fuck_.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Yang agrees breathlessly, adjusting herself; a hard task, considering Blake is trying to pull her closer, too, trying to align herself sightlessly. It's like they're two separate puzzle pieces, trying it match up mid-air.

“ _Please_ ,” Blake says. She’s not above begging, which she knows is exactly what Yang wants. “ _Please_.”

Yang hums, sounding pleased, angling herself so the tip of the dildo is only just brushing against Blake’s entrance. Blake writhes against the silks, trying to sink herself onto it.

“Please,” she repeats, desperate. “ _Fuck_ me.”

Yang grunts, finally giving Blake just what she wants, slowly directing it upwards, but letting Blake do most of the work herself. She lowers onto it, a moan breaking from her lips as it fills her.

“Like this?” Yang murmurs, her breath hot on Blake’s ear. If Blake’s arms weren’t tied up, she’d be wrapping them around Yang’s neck, kissing her rather than struggling to come up with a response like she is now.

“I--” Blake gasps as the dildo hits _just_ the right angle. “ _Yang_.”

She tightens her grip on the silks as Yang picks up her speed, her intensity, but it’s Blake who ends up unravelling. She cums _hard_ , moaning Yang’s name like it’s all she has left. Yang only gives her a moment to recover, however, before circling around and pulling the blindfold free once more.

Blake looks like a mess in the mirror, her hair disheveled, hands still tied over her head. She’s out of breath, her chest heaving, her body almost limp.

But then Yang’s behind her again, her reflection looking wickedly over Blake’s shoulder. Keeping eye contact with Blake in the mirror, she slides a hand across Blake’s side, onto her abdomen, then slowly lets it climb until she’s cupping a breast, thumbing her nipple. Blake’s breath catches.

It’s like her whole body is throbbing as she leans forward a little, letting Yang bend her leg upwards. She feels the dildo again, and sees just a hint of its purple color in the mirror.

Then Yang thrusts upwards, and Blake can’t think of anything else.

\--

It’s amazing, how easy it is to find comfort in even the strangest of places when you’re with someone you care about.

They’re both on one of the cushier mats in the studio, backed against the wall. Blake leans against Yang, already half-asleep, wearing only Yang’s yellow flannel, which she’s left unbuttoned; Yang’s the only warmth she needs, anyway. She strokes Blake’s back, lulling her off further. Her whole body aches in the best possible way, and if it weren’t for the bright studio lights, she’s sure she’d be sleeping already.

“You wanna come home with me tonight?” Yang murmurs.

The invitation is tempting-- too tempting. She treasures the nights she gets to sleep with Yang beside her, in a real bed with a real comforter and real pillows. It’s bliss compared to the cold, hard room she sleeps in most nights. It’s so tempting, in fact, that Blake nearly says _yes_ before catching herself.

“I can’t,” she says regretfully, already hating how the words come out. “I have an early shift tomorrow.”

“You can’t just leave from my place?” Yang asks. Blake looks over at their reflection in the wall mirror, and sees Yang’s small frown.

“It’s… an early shift,” Blake replies uncomfortably. “I wouldn’t want to wake you up, and work is further from your place than it is from... mine.”

She winces at how unconvincing she sounds. Even though she’s not technically lying, she _feels_ like she is; she’s omitting too much to be honest. It’s true that her shift the next morning would be early. It’s also true that it’s much closer to the Salem Performing Arts Center than to Yang’s apartment. If she went to Yang’s that night, it would mean she’d have to wake up much earlier than she wanted in order to come back to the SPAC building to get a change of clothes, and it would be too suspicious if she magically conjured up her work clothes now.

Yang doesn’t know that Blake’s living at the circus, after all, and that’s a secret she intends to keep.

“I don’t mind taking you myself,” Yang offers. “We don’t have to be back here till tomorrow afternoon, so I could just take you to your place and then to work.”

“My shift is _early_ ,” Blake reminds her.

“And I _don’t mind_ ,” Yang reiterates, her voice firm, but gentle. “I can always just go back to bed when I get back.”

“I…” Blake gnaws her lip, and is reassuring by the way Yang’s arm tightens around her.

“And I've been thinking. I know this is like… still pretty soon for us,” Yang adds, smiling down at her somewhat sheepishly. “But if you’re having trouble with living on your own… well, we’re renewing our lease soon. And split four ways, it’s probably a lot cheaper than what you’re doing now.”

“You… want me to move in?” Blake blinks, confused. “With you?”

“If you want to,” Yang says, brushing a strand of hair from Blake’s face. “I know you’re… kind of stressed about everything. So this might be a good option.”

For a long moment, Blake mulls it over silently. As close as she and Yang are already, they’ve only been dating for a month. The word _girlfriend_ is still so strange and new. And now Yang is asking her to move in? Already?

It’s a best-case scenario, she reminds herself. In the long run, it would be a lot cheaper to live with Yang. She wouldn’t have to struggle to keep her head above water anymore; she could breathe a little, and her beaten finances could finally start to recover.

Still… right this minute, she wouldn’t even be able to afford the first month’s rent.

“I don’t… think I can,” Blake says, heart sinking.

“Why not?”

“I…” It’s real panic rising in her now, and Blake’s breath becomes faster, shorter. All of this is pressing too close to the truth, a truth Blake doesn’t want to unveil. “It’s…”

“You don’t have to answer me now,” Yang says quickly, though there’s a twinge of disappointment in her face. “Just… think about it.”

Blake nods wordlessly, but Yang’s words are enough to stave off the worst of it. She slumps more into Yang’s frame, trying to find comfort in the rhythm of her caresses. And, after a few minutes, she does.

“Even if you can’t stay with me tonight,” Yang says softly. “Can I at least drive you home?”

Blake squeezes her eyes shut, an echo of her panic flaring at the question. She can’t let herself think about the depths. She has to breathe, and count.

 _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight_.

“Not tonight,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I want to, but…”

“It’s okay, baby.” Yang leans in and kisses her, and slides a hand under the flannel against Blake’s side. It feels so perfectly close, only marred by the guilt in Blake’s heart.

This closeness is undeserved, a nasty voice in Blake’s head whispers. She can’t even tell her own girlfriend the truth; what makes her think she deserves any sort of intimacy like this?

Coldness begins to burrow its way under Blake’s skin. And no matter how close Yang holds her, it’s a cold that doesn’t abate.

\--

Oh, there’s still plenty of joy in her life. She still steals moments away with Yang, falls into easy jokes with Ruby and Weiss and the rest of the troupe. She doubles down on her lessons with Yang, though more and more, those lessons become more like actual rehearsals. Yang drills her hard with the routine they’ve got planned for _Fairy Tales of Remnant_ , and even the most difficult parts become easier through repetition.

But Blake’s worries are still there, as resolute as ever. They’re latched into her with their icy claws, still trying to drag her under. She runs herself ragged as she tries to fight them, to get through her lessons and rehearsals and waitressing shifts. Sleep itself is getting harder and harder to come by: there’s always money to worry about, or the stress of her living situation, or even just the plain discomfort of sleeping on a gym mat. Her muscles constantly ache, and dark circles become permanent fixtures under her eyes. A part of her wonders if she’ll ever get a good night’s sleep ever again.

There’s no escaping from her grim reality. All she can do is cover it up as much as she can, and keep a smile plastered to her face. After all, what else can she do?

“Needs to be tighter!” Yang calls. “Pull your legs-- shit.”

Blake winces. She’s getting sloppy, and she knows it. Belatedly, she curls up her legs more tightly, but it’s not good. Yang’s already descending, so Blake joins her, letting herself slide down.

As the dance outgrows the studio, Blake and Yang have relocated their rehearsals to the arena, to take advantage of the additional space and height. At first, Blake felt shy about practicing in front of the other performers; she feared their judgement, that an amateur like herself would dare take the stage. Fortunately, nobody ridicules her, nobody sneers. They watched at first, curious, but in the end, they’re more concerned about their own acts.

Though now, that self-consciousness returns as she lands back down on the stage.

“Sorry,” Blake says, grimacing. “I slipped up a little bit there.”

“What happened?” Yang asked, concern written all over her face. “That’s the second time today. You’re usually more controlled than this.”

“I-- I know.” Blake feels a hot wave of shame. She _is_ better than this. But the exhaustion and stress are getting the better of her, and it’s finally showing now. She shakes her head slowly, and presses a hand to her temple. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” Blake hesitates, then shakes her head again. “I’m just tired.”

“Baby,” Yang murmurs. She reaches a hand out, brushing through Blake’s hair. “Should we cut it short for the day?”

“No,” Blake says quickly. She looks away, toward the silks again, and she grabs a hold of it. “Let’s just try again. We need the practice.”

“But if you’re too tired--” Yang begins, but Blake cuts her off.

“I’m _good_ ,” she says, a little too sharply. Yang’s eyebrows rise, and Blake feels a twinge of regret for her tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“Then let’s get back to work,” Yang replies, her tone a little more clipped. She turns away, and the knot of hurt in Blake’s stomach only grows. “Let’s just try again.”

It has to be exhaustion that made her snap, Blake thinks, trying not to dwell on the ache in her stomach. It has to be the exhaustion, too, that’s making her want to cry. But all she can do is keep dancing.

So that’s exactly what they do.

\--

“Belladonna!” Robyn barks.

“Fuck,” Blake mutters, and she rushes onto the stage, but it’s too late. A couple of the other dancers are glaring at her, and the music cuts abruptly off. She missed her entrance, and they have to restart.

“The hell happened?” Robyn demands, glowering. Blake’s ears flatten.

“Sorry.” Blake looks away. She sees Yang looking up at her from the audience, confused. She doesn’t dwell on her, and turns to face Robyn instead. But Robyn’s already waving everyone back to places, and the dancers follow her direction.

“Miss it one more time,” she warns, eyes narrowing in on Blake, “and you’re out of this number completely.”

The blood drains from Blake’s face. This dance was a complicated one, consisting of a smaller group of performers. It’s a rare opportunity for Blake to shine among the large cast, and a chance to showcase her abilities. Being cut from the dance would not only take that away from her, but also make her lose credibility with the troupe.

It’s something that she can’t afford-- literally.

The music starts again, and this time, Blake doesn’t miss her cue. She dances perfectly, leaping across the stage, putting her all into her movements. She wants Robyn to remember what she’s capable of, that she _isn’t_ just an idiot who misses her cues. She pirouettes, hoping Robyn sees her form and remembers why she’d chosen Blake for this dance in the first place.

As the music begins to transition, the dance ends. The dancers finish in stiff, angular poses that will make their silhouettes look haunting when the light hits them just right. Blake’s arms are stretched and long, but her limbs still feel so heavy, so awkward. 

For as much effort as she put into this practice, it still isn’t her best.

“Good!” Robyn calls. She’s not even looking at Blake anymore, already mentally moved on from Blake’s lapse in concentration. “Let’s do it again, then!”

The dancers all start to migrate backstage again, though Blake sneaks a look back toward the audience, where Yang gives her a smile and a thumbs up. Rolling her eyes, Blake returns it.

“Oh, shit, wait!” Robyn says belatedly, looking irritated. “Everyone take five!”

As Robyn gets up, striding down the one of the aisles with purpose, there’s a general stir as the dancers relax. They start to chatter amongst themselves, and some of them leave the stage area completely to sneak in a quick smoke or snack break. Blake, though, makes her way toward Yang, who’s slouched sideways, her legs thrown over the armrest and into the neighboring seat.

“What was that about?” Blake asks, stepping in front of her, nodding in Robyn's direction. Yang shrugs.

“It’s always a mystery with that one,” she replies. She smiles up at Blake. “You’re beautiful out there, baby.”

“I fucked up,” Blake says, sighing, slumping down next to her.

“You missed a cue. It’s not the end of the world.”

“It might as well be when you’re a newbie,” Blake mutters. Yang huffs, straightening up in her seat in order to wrap an arm around Blake’s shoulders.

“You’re fine,” she says dismissively. “I’d be more worried if--”

“...the White Fang is even _interested_ in the collab?” Robyn demands, her voice raised.

Blake’s blood runs cold, and her head snaps behind them, to where Robyn stands. She looks to be in an argument with Dr. Ozpin, who seems as calm as ever.

“You may need to call Sienna directly,” Dr. Ozpin says, unconcerned. “She has a more well-rounded view of things than Mr. Taurus does. He has a history of being more... difficult to deal with.”

“Why should we even bother?” Robyn demands angrily. “You know the way he looks down on us.”

Blake doesn’t hear the words; just the name _Taurus_ is blaring on repeat in her brain like a siren. This was the name she’s been spent over two months trying to bury. How had it followed her here?

“Blake?” Yang asks, concerned. But Blake doesn’t hear her, doesn’t see her.

 _He_ followed her here. He must have found her here. He must have--

“It would be an excellent learning experience for both of our groups,” Dr. Ozpin replies evenly. “A collaboration like this could...” 

His voice drones on, but none of it even registers to her.

“Blake?”

A hand on her shoulder, and Blake _jumps_ out of her seat. But it’s only Yang, her eyebrows high with surprise.

“I have to go,” Blake says, her words a half-mumble. She’s shaking without knowing it, the cold finally having seeped into her marrow. She can’t outrun it anymore. It’s all caught up to her; it always catches up.

“Huh? Blake, are you--?”

Blake steps away from her, even when Yang rises to follow. She finally breaks her stare on Robyn and Dr. Ozpin-- maybe if she can’t see them, the alarms going off in her brain will cease.

They don’t, of course. All Blake can do now is run.

“Baby, wait--” Yang tries, holding up a hand, but Blake’s already moving. She breaks into a full-out run down the aisle, toward the door to the arena.

She pushes through and can’t even bring herself to look behind her.


	9. Chapter 9

Blake stares ahead of her, dumbly, into the darkness.

She doesn’t have anywhere else to run, nowhere else to go. That’s why she’s down here, in her little storage closet, curled up on the practice mat she’s been using to sleep on. She didn’t bother with the lights; she doesn’t want to be found. Not by Adam, not by _anyone_.

But… she just doesn’t have anywhere to go.

Her mind scrambles, trying to make a backup plan. But she can’t, and each thought she has ends up tripping into an abrupt crevasse in her mind. It’s because there _is_ no future. She won’t be able to return to ballet; Adam had told her she’d be nothing without him, and he was right. He’d make it impossible to be taken on by any other reputable companies, and she had a feeling, if he actually, _physically_ found her, she’d even be in danger.

Which is exactly what will happen if he finds out Blake is at the circus.

She feels so _stupid_ , for forgetting the collaboration. That’s what had brought her here in the first place, hadn’t it? She’d been invited here with Adam to discuss a potential collaboration between the White Fang Ballet and the Shattered Moon Circus. But, in the months she’s been here, she’d completely forgotten about it. Since she hadn’t heard any news, she’d assumed Adam and Sienna lost interest, but it was just as likely they’d just put the collaboration on the backburner during the break between seasons. God, she’s so _stupid_.

What would he do if he found her? That’s a question Blake doesn’t want to answer. She closes her eyes, a million different possibilities running through her brain. Would he hurt her? Would he somehow poison Dr. Ozpin against her? Could he even have her arrested? And worse… Blake’s heart sinks as she thinks of it. What would he do to _Yang_?

In her mind’s eye, she sees shadows, she sees blood. A flash of red that Blake doesn’t understand, but it still fills her with true terror.

If Adam finds her… what will he _do_?

It takes Blake a moment to realize that one tear, and then another, are rolling down her cheeks. When she does, she still can’t even bring herself to wipe them. All she can do is stare ahead at the wall, and let the darkness swallow her.

Yet Blake is out of ideas. She just can’t think of any. She can’t think forward, can’t think back. She can’t stay here, but has nowhere to go. She hovers in limbo, frozen.

And all she can do is stare into the darkness.

She isn’t sure how long she sits there, huddled against cartons and boxes. There’s no window in this dusty closet, and there are no clocks to gauge the passage of time. Blake could look at her phone, but she doesn’t dare; it keeps buzzing steadily, and she can’t bring herself to answer it. What would she even say? No. Those calls and texts are best left unanswered. And eventually, they stop.

But then, there’s a _creak_.

The door to the storage closet pushes open, casting a sliver of light into the dark room. Blake squints against it, her ears flattening, but otherwise holds perfectly still. Unless someone knows where to look, they very well may not see her there on the floor.

They see her anyway.

“Baby,” Yang asks softly, voice cracking. “What are you doing here in the dark?”

Blake doesn’t respond. She closes her eyes, breathing slowly. She hears footsteps, approaching her. Then, she feels Yang settle down beside her, sitting next to her on the mat. She’s warm, as she always is, and sensing that heat, Blake finally realizes how _cold_ she is. She’s still only in her leotard from rehearsal, after all, and this tiny room is chilly. She wants to sink into Yang’s heat, but she can’t even make herself move. 

All she can do is sit.

“Oz said I’d find you here,” Yang murmurs. She hesitates, and wraps an arm around Blake’s shoulders. Blake doesn’t move. “He… said you’ve been sleeping here. For some time, now.”

Blake draws in a slow, shaky breath. He’d known. Dr. Ozpin had _known_. She shouldn’t be surprised; Yang _did_ say he knows everything that happens at the Shattered Moon Circus.

With great reluctance, she nods. Whether it’s because shame, or fear, or just plain exhaustion, she can feel the more tears start to trickle out of her eyes, rolling traitorously down her cheeks.

“Yeah,” she says at last. “I… have been.”

“Blake,” Yang says, still so _gentle_ as she reaches up, wiping the tears off Blake’s cheek. “What’s going _on_?”

There’s a hard lump in Blake’s throat, and it hurts to swallow. She continues to stare ahead, not wanting to meet Yang’s eyes.

“I…” she begins, then squeezes her eyes shut, trying to hold back even _more_ tears. God, she can’t even control herself anymore, and her own shame increases tenfold. She takes a deep breath, and tries again. Her voice is hoarse. “Ever since I left the White Fang… I’ve been doing _everything_ I can to cover my tracks. So he won’t find me.”

She still doesn’t look at Yang; she doesn’t know if she can.

“He did everything he could to keep me dependent on him,” she says bitterly. “Adam was the one who trained me. You know that, right?” She opens her eyes again, and stares at the wall again. “When I was first starting out with the White Fang, he was the one who taught me. He was my _ballet master_. But then he asked me out… and, god, I was so _stupid_.”

“You were young,” Yang reminds her quietly. “You were, what? Eighteen?”

“Yes.” Blake still doesn’t look at her, but the comforting stroke of Yang’s thumb on her arm encourages her to continue. “And he was older. He knew exactly what he was doing, by taking me under his wing like that. Enmeshing himself in my training. My career. He made it so I’d be nothing without him, without his attention, without his _discipline_.” Her voice cracks on the last word. “I couldn’t challenge him. He made sure of that. So I just… let him mold me into what he wanted. I became his vision, and with that, became the youngest principal dancer the White Fang has ever had. And in exchange… I belonged to _him_.”

“But you left,” Yang says. Blake inclines her head.

“Yeah,” she says distantly. “I did.”

She pauses, unsure if she wants to go on. But she does.

“The thought of having to see him again…” she says, unable to hold back a shiver. “I just… I can’t…”

“You’re afraid of him.”

“Yes.” Blake is aware of another tear sliding down her cheek, but she can’t even bring herself to care about it anymore. It lingers on her jaw, threatening to drop. “That’s why I’ve been running from him. Since the moment I left him, I’ve been _running_. I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I kept staying at hotels, and airbnbs…”

“Shit, and that probably got expensive,” Yang says. Blake bobs her head in agreement.

“I can’t even save up enough money for an apartment now,” she says, hating how pitiable she sounds. “I gave up _everything_ to get away from him. My life, my career… but if he finds me now-- if he sees me during this collab-- he’ll come after me. He’ll come after Dr. Ozpin, for hiring me. And he’ll _definitely_ come after you, for stealing me away.”

“He won’t get me,” Yang tells her, but Blake shakes her head.

“You don’t know him,” she replies, feeling hopeless. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

Silence falls between them for a moment. Misery washes over her.

“What if it was all a mistake?” she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper. “What if this was all for nothing?”

“No,” Yang says firmly. She takes Blake’s cheek in hers, and turns her head. Finally, for the first time since Yang came into this room, their eyes meet. Even in the dark, something about Yang’s eyes are so _light_ and right away, tears fill Blake’s again. “ _None_ of this has been for nothing. You’ve been strong. Brave. You’ve come so far, baby.”

“But I’m _not_ ,” Blake says, shaking her head wildly. “I’m living in a _closet_ , for fuck’s sake! And I’m _still_ nothing, just like he always said.”

“Do you believe that?” Yang asks, leaning forward, pressing her forehead to Blake’s. “Do you _really_ believe you’re nothing?”

Blake’s eyes widen. Yang stares into her eyes, but it’s like she’s looking deeper than that. It’s like she’s looking all the way through them, into Blake’s soul. She sees the truth there, the truth Blake wouldn’t let herself see.

But Yang isn’t fooled.

“No,” Blake breathes. “I’m… _not_ nothing.”

A tiny smile twitches to life on Yang’s face. She closes the gap between them with a small, comforting kiss. She rubs her thumb along Blake’s cheek, brushing aside another stray tear.

“You’ve come _so_ far,” she repeats, her voice low. “So far, and you’ve done so _well_.”

“I haven’t done well,” Blake says, looking away. But Yang catches her chin, and Blake is looking back into her eyes.

“You _have_ ,” she insists, and though her voice is quiet, there’s a strong, unyielding certainty in it. “I promise you, Blake. You’ve done so much more than you’ve given yourself credit for. You’ve _become_ so much more than you can see. God, Blake, the person you are…”

Then Yang pauses, then gives a sharp shake of her head.

“No,” she says. “I’m not saying this down here.”

“What?” Blake asks, confused. But Yang stands up, and offers Blake her hand.

“Let’s go somewhere,” she says vaguely, jerking her head toward the door. “It’s stuffy in here.”

Confused, Blake forgets to argue. She rises, shakily, on her feet, reassured when Yang wraps her arms around her. She presses a kiss to Blake’s cheek, then holds her close, and tight. With a shaky breath, Blake buries her face into Yang’s chest, already finding calm in her warmth.

“I know where we can go,” she murmurs, pulling off her zip-up hoodie. She drapes it over Blake’s shoulders. “Let’s get out of the shadows.”

\--

Gulls cry overhead, and sunlight glitters off the waters of the Vale Bay. The fresh air, and the salty scent of the ocean, go a long way in soothing Blake’s nerves. There’s still a heavy dread in her heart, but in the sunlight, it all feels a _little_ less scary.

They’re right back where they started, where they first met, in a large terrace-like area outside, connected to the main SPAC building. Blake’s learned since then that this is an outdoor performance space, where the circus troupe sometimes performs in the summer. Once, Yang had pointed out where they rig the trapeze, and while Blake hasn’t seen any of these outdoor shows yet, she can already imagine how nice they must be.

Blake leans against the balustrade, tilting her head toward the sun.

“It’s a nice day out,” Yang comments needlessly, leaning against the balustrade beside her. “It’s much better out here, in the sun.”

“Yeah…”

They’re silent for a moment, save for the lapping of waves and the crying gulls. Then, Blake speaks again.

“Why did you bring me out here?” she asks, looking back at Yang.

“This is where I always like to go. Whenever I get upset, or mad… this is where I come,” Yang admits, smiling a little. “It’s always quiet, and there’s always fresh air… it’s my safe space, pretty much.”

“Is that why you were out here the night we met?”

“Sorta,” Yang says. “It’s a nice place, to mellow out between acts.”

“I guess I ruined it for you that night, huh?”

“Only in the best possible way,” Yang says, winking. She looks back out over the water, gaze growing distant. “Even then… I liked talking to you. And I still do.”

Blake smiles, a touch sadly. “So do I.”

“Well… good!” Yang smiles again. “Considering we’re dating and all, I’d be upset if you _didn’t_ like talking to me.”

Blake tries to find it in herself to laugh, but can’t. Her heart feels too heavy. But maybe Yang can sense that, for she wraps an arm around her. Blake leans into her, grateful for the contact.

“I love you, y’know,” Yang says. Blake blinks, and stares at her.

“What?”

“You don’t have to say it if you don’t feel the same,” Yang adds hastily, her face going a deep red. “I know it’s still… pretty early, for us to talk about that kind of thing. But… I wanted to put it out there.” She pauses, giving into a rare moment of nervousness by biting her lip. “I… love having you in my life. I love seeing you every day. I love seeing your smile. And… I got scared, I guess. When you ran out of the arena today. When I couldn’t find you.”

“I… didn’t mean to scare you,” Blake says, swallowing. She wants to cry again, though this time, she isn’t sure why.

“I know you didn’t,” Yang replies, and it might be Blake’s imagination, but her own voice sounds like it’s choking up, as well. “I just… didn’t think I realized it, till then. That I love you. It’s like…” Yang waves an arm dramatically, like she’s not sure how to describe it with words alone. “I know I’ve been feeling… strongly about you. But I just couldn’t figure out how deep it was. Until now.”

“Yang,” Blake whispers.

“And… you don’t have to respond,” Yang reminds her quickly, letting out a strained laugh. “I just--”

“Yang,” Blake says again. She reaches up, cups Yang’s face in both hands, and kisses her to silence.

Yang jolts a little, surprised, but recovers quickly. She sets her hands at Blake’s waist, keeping her close as they kiss. Blake had thought she’d needed this moment to think, to process… but she doesn’t.

She breaks the kiss.

“I love you, too,” she breathes. She gulps, feeling tears misting her eyes again, with everything she’s suppressed is spilling over the surface over the course of an afternoon. “So much. So _much_.”

She’s surprised to see a sparkle of tears in Yang’s eyes, making the lilac of her irises seem to swim.

“And… that’s a part of why I was so afraid today,” Blake adds, feeling the soreness of emotion in her throat. “Knowing what Adam could do to you… to _us_ …”

“We’ll talk to Oz,” Yang tells her, confidence flickering back to life with Blake’s confession. “We can get the collab cancelled. He’s not going to let someone here if they’re a threat to his performers.”

“I don’t want to be the cause of cancelling such a huge opportunity,” Blake says, but Yang shakes her head.

“Believe me, it’ll be worth it,” she assures her. “Besides… Robyn _hates_ dealing with Adam. She was just telling Oz today how rude he is, and how much she hates dealing with him. She’ll probably thank us for getting the collab cancelled.”

Is it really that easy? Blake smiles weakly, already being uplifted by Yang’s enthusiasm. It’s one of the things she likes-- no, _loves_ about Yang. How easy it is, to find comfort in her words, her attitude, her _everything_.

“I love you,” Blake says again, just to hear herself say it. Yang’s whole expression softens, and she leans in, the tip of her nose meeting Blake’s.

“I love you, too,” she replies. Their lips brush, slotting together in another kiss.

Months ago, when Blake had first run into Aphrodite out here on this terrace, she would have never guessed that one day, they would be kissing in that same spot. But that’s exactly what she’s doing now; maybe that night, she _had_ fallen under the spell of the goddess of love.

“I… also should probably ask,” Blake says after a moment, a bit awkwardly. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, anxious all over again. “When you asked if I wanted to move in… is that offer still on the table?”

“You should know by now,” Yang replies, her smile bright. “That when I make you an offer, I mean it.”

Blake’s smile grows. Yang always _has_ been a woman of her word.

“Then…” Blake says. “I think I’d like to do that.”

“It would sure beat sleeping on a gym mat,” Yang says, wrinkling her nose. “No wonder you seem tired all the time. There’s no way you’ve been getting a good night’s sleep on those things.”

“It hasn’t been… great,” Blake admits, ears flicking back self-consciously. 

“No kidding.” Yang grimaces. “Tell you what. Tomorrow, we can take the day off, and just… sleep in. If you don’t have to work, anyway.”

Blake considers. She _did_ have a shift, but…

“I… could use a break,” she agrees at last, nodding weakly. And with that decision, Blake sighs in relief, leaning against Yang.

Even though she’s only got Yang’s sweatshirt on over her leotard, the cold of the storage closet-- and the cold of the past weeks-- is finally pulling away. Up close, beside Yang, she thinks she might even start feeling warm again.

Yang _was_ right. It’s much better, out in the sun.

\--

The buzz Blake feels is a different sort of buzz than she’s felt on this stage before. It’s one thing to dance in an ensemble, where the key is to blend in and never steal anyone else’s spotlight. She always felt a thrill when she danced on the stage in an ensemble, but it’s altogether different from what she’s about to do now.

It’s the opening show for _Fairy Tales of Remnant_ , and this will be her grand debut on the silks.

“Ready?” Yang asks from behind her, leaning over, her whisper brushing Blake’s ear.

“Yes,” she breathes. She turns, eyes meeting Yang’s. They’re hard to see in the darkness of backstage, but they still glitter.

“Good.” Yang leans down, kisses her. “Luck,” she says.

“You know you’re not supposed to say that before a show,” Blake reminds her, and Yang huffs with quiet laughter.

“It was always Summer’s tradition,” she replies fondly. “You can say _luck_ , as long as you don’t say it’s _good_. So she’d always tell us _luck_ , and we’d know what she meant.”

“Oh.” Blake swallows a surprisingly hard lump in her throat. “That’s… really sweet.”

“Yeah,” Yang says, smiling. “So… _luck_.”

“Luck,” Blake whispers back. She wraps an arm around Yang’s neck, brings her in for another kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Yang replies, her shadowy smile illuminated briefly by a flash of light from the stage. They both look up.

It’s time.

They waste no time in getting to places; the audience is thrumming during the blackout, eager for the next act. Blake shoots Yang a glance; Yang stands on the corner of the stage, a long staff in her hand. She smiles at Blake, and Blake smiles back.

Then wordlessly, Blake reaches over her head, taking a hold of the white silks, which have been lowered closer to the ground. As soon as she grasps them, the descender rises, pulling her up with the silks. As Yang’s figure becomes smaller beneath her, Blake twists herself into the silks, wrapping them around her limbs, making it look like the fabrics have ensnared her, that they’re strangling her. Fully secured, she lets herself fall limp on her back, letting her limbs drape down lifelessly.

The lights come up, and the music starts. Though Blake’s eyes are closed, she knows Yang is dancing across the stage below her, twirling her staff like a baton to the tune of the violin. Yang would be a vision in green, in the emerald tunic that was just loose enough to flutter with her movements, but not so loose as to get in the way of the silks. It’s accented with gold, and it seems to sparkle under the stage lights.

Even though she’s seen Yang in costume before, Blake still needs to resist the temptation to open her eyes and stare at her as she dances.

Blake has watched Yang practice this part often enough, memorized each step to each beat. The way Yang stretches her arms, her legs, raising up her staff and seeming to call lightning down from the sky with it. She knows just when Yang tosses the staff to the side, and knows exactly when she’ll feel the tug of the silks.

Blake lets the fabric slide off her arm and away from her body; this is the half of the silks that Yang will climb.

It’s also the part when Blake comes to life.

She draws up her body, curling her limbs, rolling to wake up. She sees Yang climbing the silks with purpose, occasionally throwing out her arms to a burst of colorful lights. It’s hard to get a good look from up here, but she can picture it perfectly in her head; Yang’s knotting herself into the silks, letting herself swing in time with the pops of color, the magic Ozma is using to fight his way up the tower.

As the silks fall away from Blake’s body, her own outfit becomes more apparent: a simple dress with a short skirt, in the softest shade of lilac that was too much like Yang’s eyes. It billows around Blake’s thighs as she twirls in the air, bringing herself upright, taking a moment to look around in sleepy wonder.

She looks down at Yang, who reaches for her hand. Blake stretches out her arm, waits a beat, and takes it.

From then on, the two of them are a unit, moving in sync if not physically with each other. The lighting around them grows brighter as their magic does, amplified by their connection. They touch, and the lights flicker around them. Blake twists through the fabric, finding Yang’s wrists and holding on as she lets the silks drop from around her.

As they slowly begin a descent, they each take their own half of the silks. They move through the air in perfect harmony, their poses identical each time they stop and strike one. Around them, the lights change with each pose, making them glow red, and blue, and purple, and yellow.

Then they land on the ground, and step toward each other. This isn’t ballet, but it doesn’t mean they’re any less precise in their movements. They sweep their bare feet along the floor, and Blake bends herself backward. Yang catches her, lifts her into the air, and Blake wraps her legs around her waist before they spin. Blake tilts back again, like she’s wilting out of Yang’s arms, but Yang’s hands are at her lower back, holding her.

There’s a charge in the air, just like there always is when Yang holds her.

They walk, in perfect unison, toward the silks once more. They grasp each end, and Blake gives Yang a daring smile, one that Yang returns brightly. Then, on the beat, they throw the silks away from themselves, and they each run toward their own.

As one, they leap off the ground, their momentum carrying the swing of the silks in a wide arc around the stage. Blake and Yang hang for a moment, flying in a circle, like they’re chasing after each other through the air. The audience claps enthusiastically, but they’re not done; still circling each other, they both climb, gravitating toward each other.

They reach out. Yang takes a hold of Blake’s shoulder, while Blake threads her arm through Yang’s. They spin slowly through the air, the music slowing. 

Yang knots herself into a straddle, hanging upside down, and Blake transfers herself into her grasp. It’s just Yang holding her now, her anchor as Blake points her feet and extends her legs, swinging from Yang’s arms. Then, she tucks into a curl, somersaulting between their linked hands. She’s high above the stage, but Blake’s long since moved past any kind of fear.

Yang doesn’t drop her. She never does.

Blake loops a leg around the silks, pulling herself back on as Yang brings herself back up. They’re still close, close enough for Yang to keep an arm around Blake’s waist, her other arm high over her head, gripping the silks. Blake sets a hand on Yang’s chest, looking up at her, smiling.

This is a pose used in the show’s promo images, the moment that Ozma and Salem fell in love. And, unlike so many promotional poses, this doesn’t feel artificial, or manufactured. This scene needs no acting.

This love is _real_.

And in this moment, the first performance of their first duet, Blake doesn’t resist. She pulls herself just a little higher, leans in, and presses a kiss to Yang’s lips. This wasn’t in the script, and she’s sure that they’ll get hell for it later; Weiss will probably complain, and Ruby will probably groan, but, as it always is, kissing Yang is worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, this fic was going to be much longer than it ended up being. I ended up taking too long writing Banshee, and the deadline was looming... I cut out a whole plotline, which you can probably figure out what it would involve... But! I also left some room to return to this universe in the future, if people want me to snip up those pesky loose ends. I do love this au a lot, and I’ll miss it dearly!
> 
> I’d like to give another HUGE thank you to everyone involved in the Bumbleby Big Bang!! I had such an incredible time, and got to know so many wonderful people through it. If you haven’t read any of the other fics or seen the art, please check out the fic [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/bumblebybigbang2020)
> 
> Again, HUGE thank you to my artists, [6iirls](https://6iirls.tumblr.com/) and [sunnyteea](https://sunnyteea.tumblr.com/)! Again, please check out their art [HERE](https://6iirls.tumblr.com/post/635277722966540288/) and [HERE](https://sunnyteea.tumblr.com/post/635277692114288641/)!
> 
> Also a huge thank you to my beta, [Aziminil](https://aziminil.tumblr.com/), who made a gorgeous logo for the Shattered Moon Circus, and also beta read (much of it at the last minute, I’m so sorry, I'll pay you back in takeout). And also for giving the Kaleido Star brainworm, which probably influenced the creation of this fic. And ALSO for coming up with the name "Shattered Moon Circus"!!
> 
> Thank you, too, to my beautiful girlfriend [Seny](https://saigamiproject.tumblr.com/), who provides me with both support… and distraction!!
> 
> Next up on the agenda… my bumbleby selkie au and a rosebird pirate au! Not sure when I’ll start posting, but keep an eye on my socials or use the nifty alert feature to be notified when I’m posting again! If you miss me, feel free to hit me up on tumblr or twitter!
> 
> Take care of yourselves, darlings.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me:  
> Tumblr: [@pugoata](https://pugoata.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter:[@pugoata](https://twitter.com/pugoata)  
> Playlist: [On Spotify!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/213oX7kXrlDYKv8pQE7357?si=Qzl_j_4pQwqLd3tGGG8DnQ)


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